Understanding
by Neshel
Summary: Sylar and Mohinder just wanted to move on with their lives but keep finding themselves drawn back together. -Mylar, Ensemble- Picks up where Volume 2 left off.
1. The Deal

Sylar let out a sigh of contentment as he allowed himself to fall backwards onto the old battered couch. Telekinesis, Liquefaction, Induced Radioactivity, Super Hearing, Cryokinesis, Eidetic Memory, the list went on and they were all back. Every single one of his powers had returned and was working normally. There were only two he hadn't tested yet. One required additional materials, and the other… well better now than never, he supposed.

If the common misconception had been true, and Sylar gained his powers by eating brains rather than basically only needing to study them in order to see how they worked, then Candice's power would most likely be beyond him. But he hadn't forgotten what he'd seen, what he'd done. Even if he'd been unable to summon her powers then, now…

"Japan." He muttered with amusement, remembering his jailer's boasting. He closed his eyes and pictured what he knew of it the best: cherry-blossom trees, Mount Fuji and traditional Japanese architecture. Grasping the image firmly in his mind he pushed, ever so slightly, and opened his eyes.

He was sitting on the grass in the midst of a field of cherry trees, the bright blue sky framing Mt. Fuji in all its grandeur. He grinned in triumph and the image flickered, wavering a bit between the illusion and the reality. No matter, all it would take was a bit of practice and he'd be flawless in the use of this power, just like all the others.

That left just one power left untested. He could assume that, like all the others, it was functioning perfectly well; but Sylar was nothing if not methodical and the idea of leaving an unknown, even though there was no reason to believe his assumption was incorrect, bothered him. So instead of relaxing he rose to his feet and surveyed the room carefully.

Not wanting to draw unwanted attention to himself with his powers mostly untested and his enemies now aware of his general location, Sylar had decided against finding a local motel and had instead broken into a nearby apartment. The lone resident unfortunate enough to be at home taking a bath when Sylar had broken in was now floating dead in a mixture of bathwater and his own blood. It had been a pleasure-less kill, as Sylar had no interest in the middle-aged bachelor. He'd simply slit the man's throat and closed the bathroom door. He wouldn't linger long enough for any cleanup to be necessary.

The living room was sparsely decorated with the usual boring trappings of a mediocre life. Sylar paid little attention to it. He found what he was looking for quickly enough, a pencil and some paper. Not as appealing as paint and canvas, but it would serve.

Sylar sat himself down at the kitchen table, pencil in hand, and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

When the trance broke a short time later Sylar opened his eyes once more and stared down at the page before him, his eyes darkening and his lips pressing into a thin line as he took in the face staring back at him from the page. For that was all it was, just a face.

Mohinder Suresh, a look of fear and confusion etched into his eyes, his dark curls hanging limp as if wet. His broken nose still evident, thought the bandage was gone. Not far in the future at all then. Though he couldn't quite explain how, Sylar knew right away that it would be his own face reflected in those stunned eyes. He knew this, and it sent a jolt of anger down his spine.

Growling audibly, Sylar flung the pad of paper, the drawing, the pencil, and all the other detritus left sitting on the table into the wall with a combination of physical and telekinetic strength.

What the hell did he need Mohinder for anymore anyway? He was cured, wasn't he? His powers back, several targets already clearly in mind. He had no need for the List. No reason to see the damned doctor at all! Except –

**NO!**

Something inside him reared up and roared with anger. He flew to his feet, hardly aware that he'd splintered both the wooden table and chair, sending them hurling in hundreds of jagged pieces into the walls.

Mohinder had betrayed him, would have killed him today if he'd had the chance. Any lingering feelings Sylar might have felt after his time masquerading as Zane Taylor had been burned and purged months ago. It had been an infuriating weakness to begin with! His heart was a black, useless thing and whatever remnants had been touched by that achingly beautiful face had been systematically and ruthlessly destroyed.

Mohinder.

The name called up painful memories of weakness. Of a pointless search for redemption. Sylar didn't want to be saved, no longer searched for salvation! He was doing what was right, what was necessary. Following his _purpose, _thisevolutionary imperative.

Mohinder.

He had brought this weakness on. Had sent a wave of uncertainty flooding through to Sylar's very core.

It was infuriating, revolting! If he ever saw Suresh again it would only be to kill him and rid Sylar of this newly reborn agony. In fact - Sylar grabbed his coat, flung open the apartment door and stalked out into the hallway - that was exactly what he was going to do!

-------------

The last two days had been a painful, tiring cyclone of events for Mohinder. It had started with the phone call from Sylar and only gotten worse from there. The brief reprieve after Elle's rescue had been the calm before the storm. He, Molly and Maya were all alive and blessedly unhurt, but after the mortal danger was over it had been time to deal with the repercussions.

Bob, it turned out, was infuriatingly unsympathetic. Mohinder didn't know if Elle had gotten the praise she was so clearly craving, but being responsible for curing Sylar and losing two vials of the vaccine in the processes had certainly won Mohinder no favours.

Aside from feeling horrible about Niki (who he learned only a few hours ago had died in an explosion), Mohinder couldn't feel bad about doing what he'd had to in order to save Molly's life. In fact he was more angry with Bob for not understanding, but then no one thought clearly where Sylar was involved. Especially since Sylar must have been injected by the Company, which meant that Bob was ultimately responsible for the whole event in the first place.

So after a long and sleepless night in which Sylar's face kept intruding, leaving Mohinder feeling decidedly unnerved, he'd made it his priority to ignore Bob and reassure himself that Molly was ok.

Being back in the clutches of the Company certainly wasn't what either of them wanted, but Molly was physically unhurt. Psychologically, well she'd witnessed worse when her own parents had been killed. He'd spent several hours talking to her, comforting her and assuring her that he'd have them both out of there soon. She was coping rather well, considering. She missed Matt and said as much several times, but the news from Texas had been… unnerving. Mohinder hadn't gotten all of the details, but apparently Nathan Petrelli had been shot. His status, unfortunately, was unknown. Matt was fine but not coming home any time soon. This made Molly understandably upset, but she consoled herself by finding him with her power, knowing where he was and that he was alright.

Maya had been taken into the Company's ward. They'd talked a few times, some about her powers though mostly about Sylar. He felt sorry for her, as well as quite a lot of empathy. They'd both been played for fools by the man and had each lost something dear to them. Maya's twin brother had been murdered, as had Mohinder's father, though oddly it wasn't his father's death that stung as strongly anymore. He couldn't explain why, but it was the deceit, the memories of Zane… Still, Mohinder hadn't felt comfortable talking with a relative stranger about that. Not when he hadn't told a single other soul the most intimate of hurts. Fortunately the conversation hadn't required details.

Maya's powers, being what they were, meant that the company would be keeping her under wraps for the foreseeable future. Since she didn't want to hurt anyone they were going to work with her on controlling her power, but Mohinder felt sorry for her. No matter what they might say, he didn't think she'd be seeing the outside world until a safe method for suppressing these abilities was created, and that day might never come.

Still, he had more pressing issues to deal with at the moment and moral dilemmas concerning both the Company and deadly South American girls would have to wait.

After long hours of contemplation, Mohinder had finally decided that it would be best to move and not stay in his father's old apartment any longer. Partially there was concern that, if he so chose, Sylar could return there again. Mohinder didn't think the serial killer would return for his sake, but he couldn't put Molly in danger again. Matt either for that matter.

So he'd left Molly, temporarily, with the Company and headed back to his home to start packing. He'd been offered protection in the form of Elle or one of the other gifted but Mohinder had turned it down. For starters he didn't expect Sylar to show up again, especially so soon after his narrow escape. Privately, however, he didn't want to put anyone else in danger. Just in case. With his powers back Sylar was easily a match for anyone the Company could offer as protection and Mohinder wouldn't be responsible for leading another helpless lamb into the murderer's lupine jaws.

He'd also turned down the offered gun. Sylar had run off with his old one, and privately Mohinder was glad to be rid of it. The fact that Bennet was now back among the living didn't do much to assuage Mohinder's guilt over having shot him in the first place. No matter that he'd been about to kill Bob at the time, it was still murder. He'd pulled the trigger, driven the bullet into Noah Bennet's skull, and right in front of his daughter no less.

So it was really an easy decision to make, refusing the gun. Guns were useless against Sylar anyway.

With a long sigh he turned his key in the lock and stepped, for what might be one of the last times, into his father's old apartment.

-------------

It hadn't taken long for Sylar to make his way back to Mohinder's apartment. The walk had cooled his temper somewhat. As such, he refrained from blowing the door off its hinges and instead used his power to easily open the lock and let himself in.

With his arrival this time not hampered by annoyances like babysitters, kids and clingy women, Sylar found himself drinking the familiar surroundings in with a renewed appreciation. Memories of long talks with Chandra Suresh, discovering his potential, his purpose in life, surfaced unbidden. Only to be quickly swamped by more recent memories of working with Mohinder and the way it all fell apart.

So much had changed in a few short months. Photos now graced several surfaces; pictures of Mohinder, Molly Walker and Parkman. Seeing the latter now filled him with an odd sort of anger, mingled with confusion. The mind-reader was, most unfortunately, not around (his power was oh so tempting), but his presence in the photos combined with certain items scattered around the rooms seemed to indicate that he lived here too.

Sylar frowned in annoyance as that anger rose closer to the surface. He didn't know why, but the idea of the two living together made his fingers itch with the need to wrap themselves around Parkman's neck.

His aimless wanderings screeched to an abrupt halt as that realization hit home. Why should he care who Mohinder decided to play house with?

He gripped his forehead as his stomach suddenly decided to do a cartwheel, fingers digging painfully into his scalp. This confusion, this uncertainty struck him like a dagger to the skull. It was a flaw! An imperfection that had to be fixed like one of his broken clocks. It was wrong, and the ticking of his thoughts would drive him mad if he didn't fix it soon.

As the hours crawled by with, not-so-surprisingly, no sign of Mohinder or anyone else, Sylar was alone with nothing but his thoughts and they had revolted. His own mind was betraying him in the most cruel of fashions.

Memories persisted in flashing through his mind's eye. Opening Zane Taylor's door to see Mohinder standing there, so unlike the photos Chandra had shown him. They didn't do him justice at all. The odds that they would meet like that, so incredible, so unlikely that it felt almost like destiny. Mohinder had been so easy to fool into thinking Sylar was Zane and not his murderer. It had been so revoltingly easy to pull on that mask, to use his memories of his life as Gabriel to hide the killer beneath.

At first he had justified it by telling himself he was just biding his time before he could make a more educated decision on what to do. Then it was simply a way to get his hands on the List. He'd craved it with every fiber in his body, and yet… he'd known the deception couldn't last, known that all he had to do was kill the geneticist and take it. What he hadn't considered was that traveling around with Mohinder had not only led him easily to his prey, but had been surprisingly entertaining. It had felt right, natural. Conversations about genetics, evolution, and even all manner of random inane topics had been oddly pleasant on that road trip. It was like similar discussions with Chandra only different in a way that Sylar still couldn't put his finger on, a concept so foreign it eluded him, infuriated him.

Gabriel might have understood, but Gabriel was dead and buried. Sylar could use him as a mask, but that was all that remained and he was proud of it.

-------------

Time crawled by as Sylar wavered between rage and existential agony, each fueling the other on. He never once thought about changing his mind and leaving. To even contemplate such a thing would be like admitting defeat and the very idea disgusted him.

So instead he waited, senses alert even if his mind was distracted. Sleep had seemed impossible, but even he could only stay awake so long, and eventually he was forced to let himself succumb to unconsciousness. Not, however, before making sure he'd hear and be woken by anything even remotely resembling footsteps.

When the telltale steps, followed by the scratching of a key in the lock, finally came Sylar's sensitive hearing picked it up right away, jolting him out of sleep. He blinked a few times, his mind still cloudy after being so rudely awakened. He was lying, much to his amusement, on Mohinder's bed. So that when the front door opened he was still quite concealed. He must have been more exhausted then he'd thought when he'd passed out, however, as his body was loathe shake off the paralysis of sleep.

_Not a problem._

Fabricating complex and highly detailed illusions might be a touch beyond his grasp at the moment, having done very little practicing, but making Mohinder's bed appear empty was as easy as breathing. Not that he had anything at all to be worried about upon being discovered, but Sylar would rather it be on his terms, once he'd decided precisely what he wanted to do.

The sound of the approaching heartbeat and was strikingly familiar, and so it was no surprise when Mohinder himself absently shoved the bedroom door open. He was looking rather the worse for wear as he grabbed a towel from a drawer and, just as quickly as he had arrived, disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of the shower roaring to life followed quite shortly thereafter, causing Sylar to wince a little before he dialed back his sensitive hearing.

Confident he wouldn't be heard, Sylar pushed himself out of bed with a chuckle. Too easy by far.

-------------

Mohinder wasn't sure how long he stood with his eyes closed under the scalding torrent, letting the jets of water massage away all the tension he'd been holding in since first receiving that terrifying phone call. When he eventually surfaced for air the small room was heavy with steam, every surface beaded with moisture, but he finally felt somewhat human again. It was with great reluctance that he toweled himself dry and left the soothing warmth to pull on some clean clothes, but at least he felt somewhat more ready to face reality. All he needed now was a strong dose of caffeine.

When Mohinder first put his hand on the bedroom doorknob he though he caught a whiff of Chai and barely contained a chuckle of laughter. He must be tired indeed if he was so desperate for tea that he was catching whiffs of its scent before it was even made. It was only as the door swung open and his eyes landed on the two steaming green mugs that the reality of the situation descended on his mildly befuddled brain.

He froze in place, hand still gripping the doorknob. His feet stupidly unwilling to move as his eyes darted over to the man sitting at the table, chair obliquely facing the door. It was like an odd sort of echo of just two days ago, Sylar even had the same seemingly-pleasant smile plastered on.

"Hello again Dr. Suresh," Sylar spoke in his most disarmingly charming tone. "Please, sit down, you must be tired."

Mohinder found his body once more obeying him and straightened up but didn't move any closer. Sylar's words might be polite, but the look on his eyes said quite plainly that his intentions were otherwise. Of course they were.

"Why are you here?" Mohinder managed, still refusing to place himself any closer to the murder sitting in his kitchen, acting like a welcome guest.

Sylar's smile faded somewhat, as if he had expected Mohinder to jump when told. Perhaps he did.

"So rude, Mohinder." He chided in mock exasperation, "I said, **sit**." The bedroom door ripped itself out of Mohinder's hand to slam shut while at the same time the other chair slid out from the table. The amount of threat the man could convey in one syllable was impressive enough, but the casual display of newly-returned power was what finally did it. Mohinder gulped reflexively, though he tried to hide it, and grudgingly obeyed. He kept his stance tall, tried to move as if he was perfectly at ease, but he knew the sound of his racing heart was betraying him even as he did so.

Sylar seemed pleased enough at any rate and picked up his own mug, taking a sip of the steaming liquid before meeting Mohinder's gaze once again. "So much better when I make it." He taunted as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes surveying Mohinder from head to toe in a way that made him feel oddly exposed. "No secret ingredients."

The cup in front of Mohinder nudged itself forward and reluctantly he picked it up and drank a bit. At least the taste and soothing warmth were comforting and familiar. Sylar probably expected him to be reluctant, especially after the less than subtle allusions to past events, but Mohinder decided that poisoning was really the least of his worries at this point.

Irritatingly, Sylar seemed more pleased then anything else. Unwittingly, Sylar's words about trust issues flashed through Mohinder's mind. As the silence stretched on with Sylar merely sitting there, sipping his own tea with that smile still dancing on his lips, Mohinder reached for something, anything to say that might bring the moment back from the surreal.

"I see your powers are back." Mohinder observed lamely.

"Oh yes, your cure was quite satisfactory." Sylar replied, still far too amused, seemingly intent on this polite little façade. "I haven't felt this good since, oh- I don't know- the last time I was here?"

Mohinder twitched, just a little, trying very hard not to glance up at the ceiling.

"Well before we were so rudely interrupted, at any rate." Sylar shot out of his chair in one fluid, unnatural movement and turned to stroll around the room. "Of course things here have changed quite a bit since then, haven't they?" He quirked an eyebrow and glanced back in Mohinder's direction. Relaxed, enjoying himself.

"You still haven't told me why you're here." Mohinder bit out, irritation laced with just a touch of curiosity. He couldn't help it, this whole situation didn't make any sense. "I don't have the list, if that's what you're after."

Sylar waved a hand dismissively, "why would I need your list when I still have everyone at Kirby Plaza to deal with?" He replied evenly, finally straying from the constant amusement. His left hand strayed absently towards his abdomen, his gaze momentarily distant before he seemed to shake himself out of the world of memories with a shrug.

"I must say I was quite surprised to learn about your new _roommates_." He continued on, his tone reverting to the one Mohinder automatically associated with Sylar. The one that simply oozed danger with every syllable. In a way it was both more and less unnerving then amusement of a just moment ago. Sylar rested his hands on the back of the chair he had just vacated and leaned forward, eyes boring down on Mohinder. "Tell me is it just that you're both oh-so concerned about the little orphan? Or are you _fucking_ the mind-reader?"

Mohinder felt himself being pinned to his chair not by telekinesis, but by the pure ferocity in those last words. The accusation, the barely contained rage. For several seconds he just stared back up at the serial killer, his mouth moving but no sound coming out.

"You- you've got to be-" No, take that back, as much as Mohinder might suddenly want it to be, Sylar's entire being radiated a menacing seriousness. This was no joke. "Its nothing like- why- why are you even asking me this?" He stammered out, his brain half-frozen in shock.

He didn't have a chance to kick it back into gear. Sylar narrowed his eyes before taking a long stride forward. Mohinder reacted on instinct, bolting to his feet and stumbling backwards, clumsily getting tangled up in the chair as his body faltered and his mind was suddenly sticky with dread, like tar clogging up his gears.

Sylar started to raise a hand when suddenly the front door slammed open with a tearing and splintering of wood. Mohinder tripped, falling backwards over the chair, his head smacking against the unyielding kitchen floor, his vision bursting into white stars of light.

A staccato of gunfire sliced through the air, too many shots for the dazed man to count. The bangs echoed into a long moment of silence, followed by the almost musical tinkling of a barrage of bullets clattering harmlessly to the ground.

"Oh you should not have done that." Sylar's voice was calm, dangerous. Mohinder blinked away the stars, trying to stop the world from spinning. The sound of multiple bodies being viciously slammed into the closest surface was achingly familiar, and Mohinder forced himself to sit up, tried to say something, anything to stop what he knew would be coming next but only managed to groan feebly.

Blue light seared painfully across his slowly returning vision, but the cry of pain this time was much closer. Though his eyes watered, Mohinder forced them open, dragged himself to his knees despite the dizziness and sudden threat of nausea.

Sylar staggered back from the unexpected blow. Three men with guns were pinned to the walls, but standing in the doorway now was Elle, her hands crackling with electricity. She paused after the first blow hit, a fatal mistake.

Sylar grunted with the unpleasant sensation of having being hit with a bolt of electricity, but wasted no time on the pain. In an instant his mind was wrapped around Elle's throat, cutting off her oxygen, eliciting a strangled yelp from the blonde. She hurled another bolt at the villain but this time he was ready, countering it with a blast of ice from his left hand.

His mental grip slipped on the gunmen, as the two higher up fell with a crash to the ground, but their weapons were already far beyond their reach. Now Elle's hands went to her neck as her struggle for air became more desperate, coherent thought slipping away into panic.

Sylar used his power to yank her closer, his head tilting to the side in what looked like curiosity. Elle tried to fire off another attack as she shook her legs violently, fighting with everything she had, but Sylar kept her arms pinned to her side, palms facing away from him. Mohinder realized in his daze that she could only fire her power from an open palm. She was helpless.

Sylar raised his right hand now, pointing one finger. Mohinder's breath caught at the far too familiar gesture and suddenly Elle's screams ripped through the air as her skull began to open in a smooth bloody line.

In desperation Mohinder found his voice again.

"SYLAR NO!" He screamed, pushing himself to his feet only to immediately regret the decision as his world spun yet again.

He didn't know what he expected to happen, but suddenly Elle's haunting screams subsided into loud, wet sobbing. Somewhere in the back of his mind Mohinder detachedly realized that Sylar must have released his grip on her throat so that he could hear her screams. The killer paused, turning slightly to rest his gaze on Mohinder.

The geneticist was leaning against the fridge, trying to find his balance, to stop from losing the contents of his stomach.

"Please…" he managed, "please, _no_."

Sylar frowned, his eyes flitting between the sobbing woman before him and Mohinder's pleading gaze. Finally he settled on Suresh, cocking his head to the other side. "Tell me Mohinder, would you trade your life for hers?"

Mohinder gulped, but the answer was easy, he'd already made this decision.

_I won't be responsible for any more deaths._

"Yes." He replied with as much conviction as he could muster, forcing himself to stand straighter, face death without fear. A lie, an impossibility, but that wouldn't change his answer.

Sylar seemed to ponder this for a long moment, his eyes flicking once or twice back towards Elle with clear, undisguised longing. Finally, however, he tore his gaze away and settled on Mohinder, his features transforming into a wolfish grin.

Before Mohinder could blink Sylar was behind him, left arm wrapped around the shorter man's shoulders, pressing their bodies together. _"I accept."_ He whispered huskily, his warm breath tickling Mohinder's ear, causing an involuntary shudder.

Mohinder closed his eyes as Sylar brought his right arm around, his hand slipping delicately under Mohinder's dark curls. A gentle finger ran partway across Mohinder's forehead, followed by a sharp but shockingly mild pain. No worse then being scratched by a fingernail.

After only a short distance it stopped. Without warning Mohinder found himself whirled around, body still pressed uncomfortable against Sylar's staring up into the taller man's eyes. Sylar's hand threaded Mohinder's hair, grasping the back of his head, keeping it in place as he leaned forward and ran his tongue, hot and wet, along the barely bleeding scratch.

Mohinder's breath caught in his lungs, he didn't even try to move away, he was too stunned to do anything but just stand there.

Sylar licked his lips, now ever so lightly stained with Mohinder's blood. He lowered them to Mohinder's ear once more, "_see you soon, Mohinder._" He breathed just barely loud enough to hear, and suddenly Mohinder found himself free and alone.

Sylar had vanished.


	2. Reunions

"What were you _thinking_?" Mohinder demanded angrily, "you all could have been killed!"

_Should have been killed._

"I rescued you!" Elle bit back indignantly, "you should be grateful!"

Mohinder stared at the woman in disbelief.

"Sylar _let_ us go. If he'd wanted us dead we would be." Mohinder shot back, folding his arms and trying not to think of the reason why they'd been allowed to keep their lives.

Elle glared at him but wisely kept her mouth shut.

They were sitting in one of the various bland treatment rooms back at the company. Elle had just finished being sewn up and was periodically glancing in the mirror with irritation. Fortunately for her sake, Sylar hadn't gotten very far before stopping. Still there was an ugly gash now marring her forehead, sewn shut with a line of dark stitches. Sylar had cut through both skin and bone. The skin would heal well, she'd been assured, but she'd have to be very careful not to put any stress on that area of her skull. The cut could act like a fault line, taking a blow anywhere near there might cause a much larger, and more dangerous break.

Mohinder sighed, rubbing his temples reflexively, his fingers catching the rough patch of new scabbing where Sylar had cut him. Thankfully it was almost entirely covered by his hair, but even if he could hide the signs from the world, Mohinder couldn't get those long moments out of his head.

_ 'see you soon, Mohinder.'_

It turned out that Bob had gone to the airport to greet Noah Bennet. So when Molly, worrying about Mohinder's safety, had found Sylar at their apartment, it had been Elle who made the decision to go charging to the rescue. Mohinder wondered if she'd forgotten his powers must have returned by then, or if she'd thought surprise would make up for it. Either way, as much as he had appreciated the rescue two days ago, today Elle had done exactly what Mohinder had tried so hard to prevent. She'd allowed Mohinder to lead another victim right to Sylar's feet. Only this time-

'_Tell me Mohinder, would you trade your life for hers?'_

He shook his head, as if he could fling the memories off with the gesture. He wouldn't, couldn't think about that right now. The only small grace in the whole situation was that with Elle's eyes blurred by blood, and the men she brought with her having been knocked unconscious at some point during the conflict, no one had seen those last moments. He'd been hit with a barrage of questions that he couldn't possibly answer as it was, and it was almost a miracle that no one had any idea what Sylar might want with him. Mohinder's own sickening suspicions were kept to himself, under lock, key and several thick layers of steel. He was still having trouble believing the possibility himself, didn't want to consider it or think about what might happen…

Much to his irritation, his thoughts often landed on Zane. Well, Sylar as Zane. The conversations, the kindling friendship-

_The sideways glances._

Lies, lies and more lies. This had to be another game of his. Some sick attempt to get under his skin. But to what end?

_Why did he let us live?_

Mohinder left Elle to her inspections and wandered down the hallway. He needed to think, there was work to be done. He might not know what Sylar wanted with him, but the one clear thing he'd learned was who Sylar was going to go after next. They had to be warned.

Hiro Nakamura was probably safest right now. Though Sylar must want his revenge on Hiro the most, even he would have a hard time getting to Japan. Which was fortunate, it would take time for them to track him down and warn him.

Next on the list though…

Mohinder fingered his cell phone in silent contemplation as he headed towards the exit. Hearing that Peter had survived the explosion was excellent news, but the rest…

It was mid-afternoon, the warmth of the sun making it pleasant enough for a short while outdoors in just a light jacket. Mohinder flipped open the cell and dialed the number he'd been given. Once he had returned, Bob had provided Mohinder with contact information. He'd also spent most of their meeting almost avoiding Mohinder's gaze. The geneticist wondered if there was something about Nathan's attack that he hadn't been informed of, but didn't press the matter. He could find out for himself.

"Hello?" Not Peter's voice, one far more familiar instead.

"Matt, its Mohinder."

"Mohinder?" Surprise in Matt's voice, but it was dulled by something else. "How'd you get this number?"

Mohinder sighed, well he had to talk to Matt anyway. Parkman wasn't going to be happy at all, but there was no sense in delaying the inevitable.

"I was trying to reach Peter, Matt, but I need to speak to you too." He paused, licking his lips. "Sylar's alive."

A sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line.

"Are you sure?" Tentative, hopeful. Mohinder hated to be the bearer of bad news, but they had to know in order to defend themselves. As quickly as possible he related an edited version of Sylar's return two nights ago. First explaining how he'd shown up looking for the cure, quickly reassuring his roommate that Molly was just fine, all the relevant details. Matt was unsurprisingly upset to learn that Molly was back in Company care. A point that seemed especially worrying when he explained why Nathan had been shot, and who the obvious suspects were; but he reluctantly agreed that there hadn't been much choice in the matter. The second visit was related far more bare of detail, except the most important bit, who Sylar was going after next.

"So we need to warn them Matt." Mohinder explained, "and you need to come back up here and take care of Molly. I want her out of Company hands as quickly as possible but I can't look after her myself. Not after this morning."

He could sense Matt's hesitation, the unspoken questions. It wasn't really a lie, saying he didn't know what Sylar wanted with him, but Mohinder was glad when Matt didn't press the point.

"Ok," Matt said finally. "But we might have an even bigger crisis on our hands down here."

"Bigger than Sylar?" Mohinder frowned, his thoughts whirring. There was really only one possibility…

"Nathan's not going to make it, Mohinder." Matt explained in pained tones. "They got the bleeding under control but they had to put him on bypass, his heart won't beat on its own. Peter's still in denial, as long as they've got Nathan plugged into the machines, but he's losing it Mohinder." The implications were clear.

Mohinder closed his eyes, a feeling not unlike grief sweeping over him. Until-

"Alright, I have an idea."

------------------

It had taken a good hour for Matt to calm the empath down enough for him to be able to use his powers properly. But by the time the two popped into existence before Mohinder's eyes, Peter was looking cautiously optimistic.

"Do you really think it will work?" Matt questioned hesitantly. He didn't want to worry Peter more, but it had to be asked. Mohinder nodded. Strangely, it was Peter that spoke first.

"Adam's blood healed Nathan's burns." He put in, his gaze distant. The betrayal was still fresh on his mind.

Mohinder quirked an eyebrow at the mention of this unknown man, but Matt just shook his head minutely. Shame really, it was the first case of identical powers he'd come across.

"Yes, well, I've seen what Claire's blood can do. Yours might even work, Peter, but we have to warn Claire about Sylar anyway and I think its best not to risk it. I don't know how her power works in you."

Peter nodded, his gaze returning to the present, determined. Mohinder was just grateful he didn't ask for details. Of course either man could be reading his mind. Wasn't that a pleasant thought? Stick to the present.

"Will you be ok here Matt?" Peter asked with concern. "You and Molly will be the closest targets…"

Matt nodded, slowly. "I'm getting better at using my abilities, I think if it came down to it I could at least daze him enough to get away. Unlike you, Pete, he can't fight back mind to mind." Matt grinned wryly at Peter, who had the grace to look embarrassed. "But I won't stay here long, I'll get Molly and we'll find somewhere safe to hide. For now."

"You've got my number," Mohinder replied. "Don't let me worry for too long, alright?"

Matt nodded agreement, put a comforting hand on his roommate's shoulder. "I'll keep her safe Mohinder," he reassured gently. The doctor had no doubt that Matt would do anything to protect Molly. Despite just being friendly roommates, they both loved Molly like a daughter.

Not wanting to make things any more awkward than they already were, Matt tilted his head in farewell to Peter and headed off towards the Company's headquarters at a stiff pace.

"You should probably talk to Claire alone," Mohinder suggested, as he watched Matt leave. "She's got a lot of reason to be angry with me right now."

Peter gave Mohinder a questioning glance but didn't ask, and if he was picking up on Mohinder's surface though, -his memories of putting a bullet through Noah's eye as Claire screamed in anguish- well, he was kind enough not to let on.

"Ok, I'll leave you with Nathan while I go talk to her then." Peter agreed easily. Neither voiced their concerns that Claire might be reluctant to help. She and her biological father hadn't parted on the best of terms, but she didn't seem the type of girl to let even her estranged biological father die if she could prevent it.

_By now she should also know her Dad's not -no longer- dead._

Peter put a hand on Mohinder's shoulder, closed his eyes in intense concentration, and abruptly New York disappeared, to be replaced by the sterile white walls of a hospital. Mohinder stumbled a little, feeling an odd tug backwards, disorientation flooding his senses.

"Sorry Mohinder," Peter apologized softly, a pained look washing over his features. "I still have trouble with Hiro's powers."

"Don't worry about it." Mohinder steadied himself, allowing a moment to adjust to his new surroundings. "Did you have a chance to look up the address I gave you?"

"Ya, it'll be trickier to get there but I think I can manage." Peter's tone was absent, distracted, his eyes drawn to the door of Nathan's room. "Keep him company, would you? I won't be long."

Mohinder nodded; and after a long, steadying breath, Peter closed his eyes and vanished.

-------------

For a very long moment Sylar thought Mohinder might have felt the light grip on his jacket, where he'd grabbed hold at the last moment in order to tag along. Fortunately if he had noticed anything Mohinder must have passed it off as teleportation disorientation and in only a few short moments Peter was gone again.

They were alone. Sylar, Mohinder and Nathan.

Careful to keep himself disguised, Sylar slipped through the doorway behind Mohinder as he entered Nathan's room. The man hooked up to all the machines was already dead in all the senses that really mattered. Sylar took a moment to ponder why he might have been shot, and whether or not the cheerleader's blood really could bring him back to life. It was a fascinating thought, and surely he'd witnessed the marvelous effects it could have first hand. Part of him, the curious side, wanted to wait around to see what would happen, but he knew he had to keep his priorities in mind.

After listening in on Mohinder's phone conversation with Petrelli, Sylar had instantly made up his mind on a course of action, throwing his other plans out the window. This opportunity was far too perfect to not take advantage of. For things to proceed smoothly, however, he couldn't waste any time. If Peter returned before he was finished, things would get ugly.

Reaching out with his power, Sylar pushed at just the right spot in Mohinder's brain, causing the other man to pass out instantly. Sylar cushioned his fall with a bit more telekinesis before turning towards his prey. Mohinder had already suffered one blow to the head today, a second one might cause exponentially more damage.

It was a shame not being able to enjoy the hunt, the thrill of the chase, but Sylar was a practical man and was not about to let a good thing pass him by. It only took a few short steps to cross the room to Nathan's beside. With a smile he raised a finger, tracing along the man's brow, splitting skin and skull as he went.

_I've always wanted to fly._

--------------

"-hinder?" A familiar voice, filled with concern.

"Is he hurt?" Female voice this time, tentative.

"I don't see any injuries," Peter replied. "Come on Mohinder, wake up. Speak to me."

Mohinder let out a groan. His head hurt spectacularly, but it wasn't nearly as bad as this morning. "What happened?" He managed, blinking his eyes open slowly as Peter helped him to stand.

"We just got here, found you lying on the floor." Peter explained as he helped the other man to his feet. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"I just stepped into the room and then… nothing." Mohinder confessed in confusion, worry seeping into his veins. It only took another second for his growing suspicions to be confirmed.

"Oh god- Peter…" Claire's voice, now on the other side of the room. Filled with revulsion, disgust, and followed by retching.

Mohinder's sight came back into focus and he instantly wished it hadn't. Peter left his side, moving towards his brother's bedside in what looked like a trance. His expression sliding from shock, to horror, to absolute rage.

The top of Nathan's skull had been removed.

"You said he was in New York." Barely above a whisper now, Peter's voice screamed pain even though he spoke so softly. His hands flickered with light.

Silence for what seemed like hours but was actually only a handful of seconds. The Claire finally spoke, wiping a trace of bile from her lips.

"If it was _him_, why is…" She couldn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. Nathan's head was sliced open, but his brain was still there.

Mohinder's first thought, oddly, was that despite this desecration they might still be able to bring Nathan back. His second was much more relevant to the present crisis. If Sylar was here, there was only one way he got here. Which meant he could hide in plain sight, which meant-

Peter must have caught the look on Mohinder's face, read his thoughts, because his anger hardened and cooled, just a touch, as he frowned in concentration.

Listening.

Without so much as a warning glance Peter flung out an arm, electricity arcing forth towards what had seemed like a section of blank wall. A familiar voice grunted in pain as the world shimmered before their eyes and what had previously seemed an empty bit of room now held Sylar. There was a loud burn mark smoking in his shoulder, and his hands and forearms were coated in dark, drying blood. Nathan's blood.

Both men moved at the same time. Peter released another bolt of electricity as Sylar ducked, flicking his fingers and sending Peter flying backwards into a row of cabinets full of medical supplies.

-and then the world tilted on its side.

Mohinder heard Claire's stilted scream almost distantly as he fought for balance, hardly able to believe what he was seeing but suddenly unable to stand straight. His perception of reality was shifting wildly. It was as if he were floating in the middle of a room that could spin and flip around as it pleased. Whatever this was it was like nothing Mohinder had ever seen before. He hardly had time to process the impossibility of it all, for his inner ear to screech in complaint as his stomach threatened to reject yet another meal. A wet and sticky hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth and he felt himself being pulled roughly backwards.

The scent of blood was overpowering and only served to panic Mohinder more. He tried to cry out, to struggle under the coldly familiar iron grip curled around his waist. Sylar's telekinesis held him hovering with his feet off the floor, dragging him helplessly backwards.

It was only when he heard the sound of doors slamming open, felt the breeze of the outdoors, that the world stopped its wild gyrations. Ceiling and floor resumed their normal positions, the earth and sky were mercifully still.

For a moment at least.

Then the telekinetic grip on his waist was replaced by a flesh and blood arm, and Mohinder was abruptly pressed up against Sylar's body for the second time that day.

"Hold on tight," the silky voice drawled in his ear, and suddenly his stomach plummeted into his toes, wind whipped his skin, and Mohinder could only stare in horror at the receding ground.

Sylar was flying away from the hospital at dizzying speed, and Mohinder was along for the ride.

-------------

The rush of flight was intoxicating, euphoric, everything Sylar had expected and more. On the down side it was also damnably cold. It didn't bother Sylar overly much but it didn't take long for his captive to start shivering from the chill. Part of it might be from shock, but Mohinder _had_ grown up in India and Sylar knew from their road trip that the man was sensitive to it. It was a deplorable weakness, but they'd probably traveled far enough.

He wasn't sure exactly where they were. When he taken off Sylar had picked a random direction and shot off as fast as he could push this new power. Honestly though, it hardly mattered. Wherever they were, it was off the beaten path. Still, from this vantage point he was able to spot what he was looking for quickly enough, and it only took a few moments to descend and skid to a halt. Landing was certainly an experience, he nearly tripped over his own feet in the process, saving himself great embarrassment only by using his other powers to balance things out.

It also didn't help that Mohinder was about as useful to the whole process as a giant sack of potatoes.

Sylar let the other man go and sighed quietly as Suresh sank immediately to his knees, looking dazed and altogether thankful to be back on the ground. From the amount he was shaking, Sylar estimated he wouldn't be walking on his own power any time soon. Convenient for the moment at least.

"Stay there." He ordered gruffly as he stalked off around to the front of the motel. The illusions were coming much easier now, and Sylar took a moment to conceal his bloodied state. No sense frightening the clerk into hysterics. Of course he could have simply broken in, but that meant possibly getting interrupted and he was in no mood to deal with that shit.

A few short minutes later, key in hand, Sylar strode happily around to the back of the Motel only to find that Mohinder was not where he'd left him. Despite the instant annoyance at being disobeyed, Sylar was mildly pleased. The doctor wasn't as badly shaken as he'd been pretending. That or the chance of escape had given him the strength. Either way it hardly mattered.

Sylar simply listened carefully for a moment, searching out that familiar heartbeat, now racing in terror. As expected, he hadn't gotten far. With a lazy flick of his finger invisible hands reached out and grabbed Mohinder by the waist, dragging him out from around the far corner. Like reeling in a stubborn fish, he struggled at first, but by the time Sylar dropped the shorter man back at his feet, he'd wisely given up.

_Resistance is futile._

"Now Mohinder, I told you to stay put." He teased, a grin on his face.

Mohinder staggered a little, but was back on his feet quickly, glaring up at the taller man with such ferocity. Those dark eyes smoldering with anger. His caramel skin dusted with lighter dirt from his various falls, bits of Nathan's blood smeared across his face where Sylar had grabbed hold earlier. His normally messy hair was simply a disaster from being tossed around in the wind. Breathing heavily, distraught, disheveled. If Sylar had any doubts about his change in plans earlier this morning, they were instantly destroyed. Even as an absolute wreck the man was gorgeous.

- and then Mohinder spat in his face.

Both men stared at each other in shock for a long moment. Mohinder had seen Sylar stop a bullet with his mind, he hadn't really expected saliva to do any better. Sylar knew that stopping the wet projectile should have been the easiest thing in the world, but he'd been so caught up in the other's looks that his brain had temporarily stopped functioning.

Now he was just mad.

Growling he quickly wiped his cheek clean with his sleeve. Probably a mistake, seeing as his sleeves were currently covered in partially frozen, partially dried blood.

"Oh you're going to pay for that." Sylar hissed. His right arm snaked out in a flash. He grabbed Mohinder roughly by the front of his shirt and dragged him mercilessly off towards the motel room.


	3. Trapped

Sylar dragged Mohinder roughly into the motel room, shutting the door and locking it with his mind. Without saying a word he shoved Mohinder down onto the bed with one arm and blew past, heading straight for the bathroom. There were two very strong impulses running through his brain at the moment and neither would be very helpful. Besides which he needed to clean up.

His new black sweater was a complete mess; the blood was well caked on by now. Suppressing a small grunt of pain he pulled it over his head and tossed it to the side, leaving only his new black tank top. He'd gone shoplifting over lunch. Undignified, but he'd needed the new clothes. Turning on the taps with his mind to get the hot water flowing, Sylar finally allowed himself a moment to inspect his burn.

Damn Peter Petrelli to hell! He must have met up with the blonde girl sometime in the last few months. Her attack this morning had only grazed his right arm but Petrelli had gotten Sylar right in between his left shoulder and collar bone, burning a hole clean through his tank top. Fortunately the strap was intact enough to hold for now, but he would have to pull the charred material out of the wound and that certainly wouldn't be pleasant.

Scowling in disgust, Sylar snatched up the cheap bar of soap sitting on the sink and started scrubbing his hands and forearms clean of blood.

--------------

Mohinder pushed himself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed, and peered cautiously into the bathroom. For several minutes he sat in silence, watching Sylar out of the corner of his eye while trying to process everything that had happened. He only thought about dashing out of the door once, rather wistfully. At the moment Sylar wasn't restraining him with his powers but if he made a move for the door that would all be over.

Trying very hard to think of anything but what might happen when Sylar was done cleaning up, he focused on the events that had already occurred. Clearly Sylar had picked up the power to either become invisible or something that tricked the mind, illusions perhaps? That would explain the bucking walls, certainly nothing else could. If that was the case it made absolutely everything that Mohinder saw suspect. The idea fell over Mohinder like another invisible set of chains. That power had terrifying potential.

Sylar had also clearly stolen the ability to fly from Nathan. _God- Nathan, Peter!_ Mohinder could only be grateful that Sylar had decided to kidnap him rather than attempt to kill Peter and Claire. Maybe he just hadn't wanted to deal with Peter until he had his own regenerative ability. Mohinder really had no way of knowing for sure. It didn't matter, they were safe for now. Hopefully Peter would stay calm and they'd heal Nathan, if that was even still a possibility.

Perhaps he should be hoping for rescue, but he was so infernally sick of leading Sylar to more victims. With his new power of illusions, or whatever that trick was, odds were that Peter wouldn't stand much of a chance right now. It took the other man much longer to get used to new skills, for now he was just as defenseless against Sylar's new ability as the rest of them.

Which lead him back to Nathan, and the lengthening verbal silence. Mohinder took a deep breath, pulling himself together. His wits were the only poor defense he had at the moment,he could at least try and use them to his advantage. Not to mention he was extremely curious.

"Sylar?" He managed after a moment, glad his voice came out sounding reasonably normal. The scrubbing in the bathroom slowed to a halt and Mohinder tried not to picture Nathan's blood swirling down the drain.

"Yes?" The scrubbing resumed.

Mohinder licked his lips nervously and then immediately regretted it, tasting gritty dirt and the remnants of Nathan's blood that he hadn't scrubbed away the moment Sylar was out of sight.

"You can fly." Mohinder observed lamely. He stumbled over the question forming in his mind, feeling incredibly awkward but dying to know the answer. Sylar made a noise that sounded like he'd stifled a laugh, but with the running water it was hard to tell. It didn't help.

"But you didn't -I mean…"

"I didn't take his brain, you mean?" Sylar interrupted, turning off the taps with his mind and grabbing a towel to dry his hands. He leaned casually against the doorframe, meeting Mohinder's gaze at last. "Don't tell me you think I eat brains too? Honestly, I thought you were smarter than that."

Sylar was tall to begin with, but staring up at him from a sitting position only made Mohinder feel even smaller. He reflexively moved to stand up but found himself shoved firmly back to a sitting position before he had gotten even an inch off the bedspread. Sylar gave him an odd look, turning back into the bathroom for a moment.

"Not really but, well they're always gone." Mohinder persisted, trying to pretend like he hadn't been trying to stand at all, merely shifting his weight. It was a lost cause but he was trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.

Sylar came back out of the bathroom, wet washcloth in hand and strolled over to stand in front of Mohinder. He stared down at the scientist for a long moment, his expression still unnervingly strange. Finally he seemed to make up his mind about something and held the cloth out.

"Here," he grumbled, glaring at the other man until Mohinder reached out and took the washcloth from him. It was clean, warmand wet, and his face was filthy, the stench of Nathan's blood still strong. It was rather a relief to be able to wipe the worst of it off. Still, it was another decidedly odd gesture.

Sylar pulled up the only wooden chair in the room, swiveled it to face away from the bed and then straddled it backwards, folding his arms across the top. Mohinder still had to look up a little but at least it was vaguely less intimidating. On the flip side, Sylar was now sitting well within arm's reach. Slightly irrelevant when taking his telekinesis into account, but the churning in Mohinder's stomach didn't listen to logic.

"As for Nathan, I'm sure you can figure that out for yourself. Why should I ruin the fun? All scientists love their puzzles." Sylar seemed to switch easily back to his previous amusement.

"You just sawed off the top of my friend's head! I think at the least I deserve some answers." Mohinder snapped back, unable to help himself. He wanted to stay calm but couldn't seem to manage it in the face of Sylar's nonchalance.

"He was already dead," Sylar shrugged, looking mildly bored. "If Claire's blood can raise the dead then he'll just have a little more to heal from. You should be grateful I took the opportunity now, rather than having to kill him later." He shifted forward a little, his eyes lighting up. "Makes you really wonder about the nature of the soul, doesn't it? If the soul is supposed to leave the body upon death, is it dragged back when the body is repaired? Or are we really just what the wiring of our brains makes us? Repair that wiring and we return from oblivion."

"You kidnapped me to debate philosophy?" Mohinder replied incredulously.

"Really Mohinder, you're just no fun today." Sylar's lip twitched into what was almost a grin. "Though in a way you are right. It's not really kidnapping though, you traded your life for that blonde back at your apartment. I'm only here to collect." He reached forward gently cupping the side of Mohinder's head, rubbing his thumb lightly along the scratch from earlier this morning. Mohinder tried to pull away but was held quite firmly in place. Sylar removed his hand after only a moment, however, pulling back with his expression turning more serious and Mohinder's head was abruptly free to move again. "That was quite the power I let slip out of my hands and I certainly didn't have to."

There was nothing Mohinder could really say to that, not when it mirrored his thoughts from earlier.

"Consider Nathan Petrelli a bonus. Hmmm?" Sylar continued with a raised eyebrow.

"_Of course_! Slicing through his skull and rooting around in his brain was a favour to me! How could I possibly have misinterpreted that?" Mohinder's voice dripped with sarcasm. Mocking Sylar was probably one of the stupidest things he'd ever done, but he'd had enough. Words were his only weapon, bound to backfire, but damnit he wasn't going down without a fight.

The words were barely out of his mouth when invisible hands flung him into the wall, pinning him there. Mohinder grunted in pain from the impact, but he knew it could have been much worse. Sylar stood up, kicking the chair off to the side where it banged into the door. His expression still curiously blank. Angry, for certain, but oddly not near what Mohinder knew it could become when provoked.

"You're an ungrateful bastard, you know that?" Sylar growled, though his expression was softening just a touch, that amusement creeping back into his eyes. It wasn't helping Mohinder relax one bit.

Sylar strolled over to where he had the other man pinned to the motel wall, just a few inches off the floor. In fact, Mohinder was suspended at just the right height for what he had in mind.

Sylar had been doing a lot of thinking in the last few hours. Not to mention the last two days. At first he'd been ready to kill the other man, but now- Now he'd thought about it calmly, and the more time he spent in the other man's presence… Well he'd come to a new decision.

"You really just don't know when to shut up." Sylar criticized, acting like a playful cat who had cornered its prey was about to finish it off.

Mohinder gulped as Sylar invaded his personal space, unable to draw his eyes away from Sylar's own. It wasn't telekinesis that held his gaze, rather something in Sylar's eyes hypnotized him, pulled him in. His mind was screaming wordless objections but his voice simply wasn't working.

A long finger brushed with shocking tenderness down the length of Mohinder's nose. "You never did tell me who did this to you." Sylar muttered almost absently, something odd in his gaze that Mohinder couldn't place. His battered nose was free of its bandage but it was still mottled with the stain of a bruise, still tender to the touch though Sylar's strange caress failed to elicit even the slightest twinge of pain.

"Doesn't matter," Mohinder muttered, finally tearing his eyes from Sylar's. Even faced with the terror of being pinned to a wall by this undoubtedly insane murderer, the scientist couldn't bring himself to willingly dwell on that day's events. The pain, the self-disgust, it was still all too raw.

Here now, faced with the only other eyes he had stared into before pulling the trigger of a gun, something inside of him crumbled. For all his supposed moral superiority, Mohinder had shot and killed Noah Bennet without flinching. He'd shot the man before him when he was (so Mohinder had thought at the time) completely helpless. The fact that both men still lived didn't change the reality. He hadn't known either time that the act wouldn't be final.

He didn't even know a tear had escaped his tightly shut eyes until the other man's thumb wiped it away, once more with that sametenderness. It was something so utterly foreign to everything Mohinder knew about Sylar. Confusion dizzied his senses and he suddenly found his eyes open again, meeting his captor's darker ones once more.

"You've changed, Mohinder." Sylar murmured, his gaze seeming to take every bit of Mohinder in, right down the depths of his soul. He felt exposed, almost violated, and yet…

"Someone's broken you…" Sylar's tone was pitying, yet underneath it was a clear and frightening undercurrent of violence. Mohinder didn't understand the reasons behind it; however, as he heard the words, their unspoken threat was spelled out quite clearly to him.

"Don't worry Mohinder, I can fix you." Sylar voice was barely above a whisper, mouth hovering so close to his own that Mohinder could taste his breath, feel the tickle of the vibrations, bask in the numbing warmth. "I'm good at fixing things."

Sylar's lips crashed with his own. For a long moment Mohinder's mind froze in absolute shock. Sylar's kiss was strong, forceful, possessive and yet still retained that confusing tenderness that his voice had held just moments ago.

_I'm being kissed by the man who murdered my father!_

The thought slammed his mind andMohinder twisted his head desperately to the side, wrenching his lips away. Sylar didn't stop him, instead turning his attentions to the line of Mohinder's neck, running kisses and small, sharp nips with his teeth down the collar bone. He lefthis hands resting on Mohinder's hips, one nimble finger sneaking under his shirt, gently rubbing small circles along his waist.

"S-Sylar don't. S-stop, _please_!" Mohinder's words came out haltingly as his voice faltered every time the other man's warm lips made contact with the sensitive flesh of his neck. It was wrong, so horribly wrong, but each touch sent a shiver down his spine. The last word came out sounding horrifically like a moan.

Sylar ceased his ministrations, withdrew. He grabbed Mohinder's chin, forcing the darker man to look him in the eyes once more. Mohinder was being infuriatingly stubborn. Fortunately Sylar could be quite persuasive.

"Deny it all you please but you want this just as much as I do." Sylar growled into Mohinder's ear, the hot breath and gentle vibrations sending a shiver down his spine. His cheeks flushed with shame as Sylar chuckled at the shudder.

"You murdered my father!" He protested desperately as he tried to squirm out of the other's grip. It was a hopeless struggle, Sylar's telekinesis held him practically motionless.

Sylar pulled back, still holding Mohinder's chin firmly in place. He met Mohinder's angry, frightened and flustered gaze unflinchingly.

"Yes, I did." He answered plainly. "He created me Mohinder, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't be who I am today. He betrayed me. I don't regret what I did. I told you that I believe in destiny, and I know it was destiny that we should meet." He frowned a little then, as if he hadn't meant to say quite what had escaped his lips.

Mohinder could only stare, his jaw working uselessly. Sylar, the serial killer, the man who haunted people's nightmares, was standing here telling Mohinder that it was destiny that brought them together. It was so shockingly out of character, and yet in a strange way it wasn't. If he'd- If it hadn't all been a lie… but it had to be! Even if it wasn't, he was a man who ripped open people's skulls and removed their brains! This was _Sylar!_

Even if he had been able to form a coherent thought of protest, Sylar didn't give him a chance to voice it. Lips were crashing together again, the hand leaving his chin to cup the side of his head, tangling in his hair. Teeth tugged at his lower lip, the small, sharp pain only heightening the experience. Warmth coursed through Mohinder's frame, his heartbeat racing for completely new reasons now.

Invisible forces pulled his jaw open and the other man's tongue was running along the back of his teeth, brushing up against his own tongue, exploring his mouth with astounding hunger. Sylar shifted somewhat to the right and forward, their bodies pressed together and the taller man's left hip and thigh were suddenly between his legs, rubbing against his groin, causing another rush of heat and another tremor to run down Mohinder's spine.

Sylar's other hand was suddenly under his shirt, cool fingers brushing against the warm flesh of his side, joined by thousands of telekinetic fingers tracing all along his limbs, his chest, over _every_ piece of skin. Mohinder was utterly lost in sensation. His protests were smothered by the absolute sensory overload. Memories of Zane flooded his mind. All the pleasant moments, the sideways glances they'd caught each other at more than once. The moment in that restaurant when they'd reached for the salt at the same time, hands gently brushing one another. The awkward silence that had followed.

Back before he'd known the truth. Before reality had come crashing home.

_I had wanted this so much._

Resolve shattered without his conscious consent and suddenly Mohinder was kissing back, a small moan of pleasure breaking free of its bonds as Sylar's hip shifted once more, rubbing insistently against the rapidly growing hardness.

In that moment Sylar knew that he had won.

In that moment, it all went straight to hell.

Sylar froze in an instant, the invisible hands vanished and instead Mohinder felt a grip tighten uncomfortably over his vocal chords as he opened his mouth to feebly protest the abrupt halt.

The pale man pushed himself back, eyes flying upwards, the expression on his face flooded with venom. If looks could kill, this one would have leveled an army.

There had been the sound of two footsteps on the roof. Far below any normal person's range of hearing, but to Sylar they were like rolls of thunder.

_Peter_ Fucking _Petrelli!_

The chair in the corner shattered into dozens of razor-sharp stakes as Sylar's gaze fixed on the ceiling. He felt his body boiling with rage. They could have been best friends a few moments ago but for interrupting like this, right now, Sylar would have murdered him anyway.

The hovering shards of wood spread out into a cloud, all pointing upwards, all quivering as is they were straining to be released, set free. With a mere thought they all shot upwards at once, tearing through the ceiling with such force that it was as if the roof was made of tissue paper. A cry of pain lanced through the air and Sylar snarled, leaving Mohinder pinned and silenced as he burst into the air, through the ragged hole in the ceiling, after the shower of wood.

Sylar could feel Peter trying to react, to turn the telekinetic barrage back around on him, but Petrelli didn't stand a chance. Sylar was better at this, with much more practice, skill and finesse; and he was fueled by more desire to kill this man then he had ever felt towards anyone in his entire life.

This time Peter Petrelli would not escape alive.

Several of Sylar's projectiles had embedded themselves into the other man, giving him the appearance of a human pincushion, a grimace of pain etched on his face. Peter flung a hand forward to send a lance of electricity at his foe but an invisible wall sprang up and deflected the blast off in another direction entirely. The intruder didn't have time for a second shot.

Sylar was bearing down on him, a wave of telekinetic rage bursting out in front of him, plucking Peter out of the air and slamming him down onto the gravel parking lot. The remnants of the chair followed immediately afterwards, slicing through flesh and muscle, eliciting a jarring scream of agony from his foe who was suddenly bleeding from a dozen more wounds. They would heal rapidly but Sylar wasn't going to give him the time.

A booted foot slammed down onto Peter's chest as he struggled in vain against the invisible bonds. The strength of his own telekinesis battered furiously but ultimately harmlessly against Sylar's. Both men were filled with rage directed at the other but Peter lost control so easily, while Sylar was currently tapping depths of previously unknown strength.

Petrelli didn't stand a chance.

Not wasting a moment, Sylar pointed his finger at Peter's forehead, methodically, ruthlessly splitting skull and bone as quickly as he could, determined to beat the regeneration.

Peter's power slammed against his own, nearly physically shaking him. The telekinetic blows became stronger but more erratic as Peter's screams of agony peaked in intensity.

Sylar's expression split into a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with success, his hunger for power about to be fed in a way he'd dreamed of for months.

He was two thirds of the way there when he was rudely interrupted for the second time. Out of nowhere something crashed into Sylar's side at monumental speed, picking him up and whipping him away from Peter's screaming form.

He had just a few seconds to register his shock, pain and confusion, and then it all went black.

-------------

Mohinder had tried and tried to scream warning, to beg Sylar to stop, anything at all, but with the iron grip on his vocal chords he couldn't get a word out.

_Not again! Not again!_

Peters screams had ripped through him, hot tears breaking loose to stream down his cheeks as he drowned in the sound of his friend's suffering. He thrashed against the mental grip that kept him pinned even with Sylar fighting Peter at the same time. From the single set of heart-wrenching screams of agony, it seemed to be a very one sided fight.

When the invisible vice holding Mohinder in place suddenly vanishedhe was still bucking like mad against the restraint and consequently succeeded in flinging himself awkwardly to land in a sprawled mess on the floor. The landing was jarring but all Mohinder could think of was Peter's danger. Had the screams stopped because Sylar had killed him?

_Please, oh please no!_

Disregarding the ache of strained muscles and bruised limbs, Mohinder scrambled to his feet and flung himself out the door. Peter was lying on the ground, speared with chair parts, panting loudly but… alone.

Mohinder stumbled over to the injured man, falling to his knees once he reached his side. The long gash across Peter's head was slowly knitting back together. He was clearly in a state of shock. His eyes were wide with a combination of confusion, pain and relief that he wasn't dead.

"What happened? Where is he?" Mohinder asked first as he took in the bits of wood and figured out the best way to remove them. He wanted to comfort Peter, to apologize a thousand times over, but first he had to know what had happened to Sylar. How much time did they have until he came back to finish the job?

Peter's breathing steadied somewhat as his head finished healing. Not having his skull split in two seemed to do wonders for his composure.

It really wasn't surprising.

"He-" Peter stuttered between the gasps of pain when Mohinder pulled the first wooden dagger out. "I don't know. I was- I didn't do anything. There- I- I think- someone else. At least- it might have been. Something crashed into him. Then, nothing. Gone."

_Gone?_

Mohinder gave Peter a startled look at that but quickly turned back to his ministrations. Best to concentrate on the task at hand, not think about what just happened. He tugged a smaller shard out of Peter's abdomen, wincing in sympathy at the other man's grunt of pain.

"Peter I… I'm so sorry. You nearly died trying to- all because of me." He couldn't look Peter in the eye anymore.

_Don't think about it. Don' t think about what happened. Oh god, he can read my mind!_

It took a supreme effort of will to focus on the next piece of wood. He'd managed to clear the top half of Peter's body and the wounds were healing faster now.

"I wasn't going to let him hurt you Mohinder." Peter replied softly now, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. His clothes were shredded, he was covered in blood, but thanks to some miracle he was still alive. "Are you ok? What did he want?"

_Pull out the next piece of wood. Concentrate on the next piece of wood._

"I…" he scrambled for a way to avoid the subject. "I'm not the one who looks like a pincushion Peter. We can talk about this later. Right now we have to get out of here. You shouldn't have come, he nearly killed you! If whatever distracted him doesn't last he'll be back here and we need to be gone by then."

Peter helped Mohinder pull the last of the major pieces out, trying hard to act like he was much more used to healing from such major wounds. Like it didn't hurt like hell.

A few short minutes later Peter was ready and, with a look of intense concentration, teleported them both to safety.


	4. Yesterday and Tomorrow

He was Gabriel Gray, the watchmaker's son. His mother made sure that the whole family went to church every Sunday, his father ran the shop and expected Gabriel to follow in his footsteps. His mother, regretting having married a lowly watchmaker, had bigger dreams for her son. She told him that he could become whatever he wanted, he could be special.

Like so many parents before her, Virginia Gray tried to live vicariously through her child. She dreamed of traveling the world over but knew she would never go. Instead she collected snow globes. When Gabriel was young she only had a few, but as he got older he would get her new ones for gifts and as an adult Gabrielwould buy one for her in every city he visited. Hetried to do everything he could to please his mother but somehow never got it all quite right.

Gabriel took on his mother's high aspirations, that he be special. So much so that he sometimes even wished he was adopted and would one day be told that he was the long lost child of some fabulously important family. He truly wanted to please his mother. Yet at the same time he also felt a strange attraction to watch-making, indeed with tinkering with all sorts of small machines.

Gabriel did well in his academics and could probably have easily found himself a scholarship to a good college. Instead he found himself growing up torn between the conflicting wishes of his parents. The older he got the more they bickered and fought until his father finally died when Gabriel was still in his teens, a sad accident of fate. He'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A drunk driver ran a red light and Gabriel lost his father to a mundane and pointless death. So Gabriel had taken up running the shop to provide for himself and his mother. He was the man of the house now, it was his job.

From then on nothing really changed until Chandra Suresh had set foot into the shop with his book, his ideas, and his promise that Gabriel was, in fact, special. They'd spent long hours together engaged in intense conversations about evolution and genetics. At least up until Chandra had given up on Gabriel, turned his back on the young man. He'd dangled hope in front of Gabriel's eyes before yanking the carpet out from beneath his feet.

Brian Davis had been a been a masochistic impulse. Why he'd called the man, invited him over, Gabriel really didn't know. He'd just needed to see, he supposed. When Brian had arrived and moved that teacup with his mind Gabriel had been amazed. It was true after all! There really were people with amazing abilities out there. Brian, however, oh Brian didn't want his power. He was afraid of it, he wasn't thinking right. He was broken.

That was ok. Gabriel fixed things.

The crystal had been in his hand before he'd thought about it. Getting through the bone of the skull was harder then he'd first expected, though somehow he hadn't had any trouble figuring out which of his tools around the shop would work best.

There was blood everywhere by the end but he hardly noticed, he'd been so intent on his goal: fix what was wrong, make it better. It was almost a compulsion. He'd certainly worked without emotion, without undue haste, until finally he was through. He was soaked in blood up to his elbows but he hardly noticed. For several long moments he just stared at it, this portal, this map to life's most tempting prize. Power. To be someone incredible, special. Telekinesis. It all lay before him in the folds of the dead man's brain. Pink and grey tissue, coated in blood and bodily fluids, Gabriel could read it like a second language he'd known all his life but never spoken. Through his glasses he could see every minute detail, every line, every curve, his fingers prying the lobes apart, studying every detail with rapt attention until finally he found it. He understood. This part of the brain, here, controlled it. He couldn't have put it into words but he knew exactly how this cluster of neurons worked, what to do, how to manipulate his thoughts in order to be able to use that area of his brain in this specific way.

It was liked a rush of energy that shot from the tips of his fingers, traveling up his spine to explode into his mind. It was painful and beautiful all at the same time. It was like seeing a new colour, awakening to a new sense. It was incomprehensible and yet it all made sense.

When the rush ended he took a long, deep breath and held out his hands. He was amazed at how still they were, thrilled at what they were now capable of. He eyed the crystal with which he had landed the first blow, now splattered with blood, set aside once it was no longer needed. He stared at it, and pushed just so with his mind. It was an entirely new sensation, yet while it was foreign it also made complete sense to him. Fixing Brian Davis wasn't possible, he'd been defective to being with.

The crystal trembled and fell over.

Gabriel Gray ceased to exist with Brian Davis' death. It was Sylar that got up from that corpse, cleaned up, disposed of the body. He was reborn. There was no remorse in that moment, because now he understood. It was simple Darwinian evolution, survival of the fittest. Sylar truly appreciated these powers, understood them. He was able to use them to their fullest potential, make them his own; he was simply more evolved. So it was therefore his evolutionary imperative to use these new abilities, especially the one he had been born with.

For he understood now, at this moment of earth-shattering revelations where he was born anew. Intuitive Aptitude, the ability to understand how things work, utterly and completely. That was why, when he had looked inside the other man he had seen how Davis' power had worked, he'd understood everything about it. How it functioned, how he could use it himself. He doubted he could ever explain the mechanics to someone else, this was so strange and new that there were no words with which he could describe it. It didn't matter if he couldn't explain it, _he_ understood. This was what he was meant to do.

He was the pinnacle of mankind's evolution.

-------------

Time went by. He showed Chandra his 'newly awoken ability', pretending that the telekinesis was his to begin with. It was certainly his now. He and the doctor had continued on then as if their falling out hadn't happened at all, together they'd sought out others with these abilities. They were all equally pathetic, either afraid of their own abilities or unable to see their own true potential. They were, one and all, broken.

Dr. Chandra Suresh had willingly led him straight to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. The map, the list. Sylar tracked them down, did what he was meant to do.

Until, of course, Chandra had betrayed Sylar.

Killing Dr. Suresh had been different. It had been personal, it broke something inside of Sylar. That piece of him that hadn't died the night of his first kill did not survive the murder of Chandra Suresh.

He questioned himself that night. He thought of his mother and her religious devotion, of the life he'd just taken. He knew that he had to beg for forgiveness. His arrival at home had been a blur, covered in the blood of the man he had admired, the man who had opened Gabriel's eyes, had told him that he was truly special after all. Suresh's vision had been limited, but this…

He'd begged for forgiveness, written on the walls for hours on end with a combination of the doctor's blood whatever else came to hand. He'd done everything that was supposed to bring peace and salvation.

None of it worked.

He knew what he had done, he knew what he would continue do in the future. By the time he left that room Gabriel was some pathetic stranger, he no longer existed. Sylar was all that was left.

Sylar had gone on the hunt.

He used the names he could remember from the map. The murders were still emotionless, but always violent. The Walker household was the only time one of his intended victims had escaped. He hadn't been able to find the girl, she'd run away, hidden. Molly Walker escaped unharmed, though her parents had not, and he'd left with one of the two abilities he'd sought.

Charlie, the waitress, had been one of his favorites. Eidetic Memory had combined with his Intuitive Aptitude. Together they took an already bright young man and turned him into a repository of knowledge and wisdom. He was absorbing everything and reveling in every moment.

Claire Bennet hadn't actually been on the list. It had been a newspaper article that got his attention. Girl rescues man from fire, not a scratch on her. Of course back then he'd had a different name, as the girl who stepped up and claimed to be the mystery blonde was a liar. She had died at Sylar's hands while Claire, just another Cheerleader he had effortlessly cast aside, stood up from what should have been fatal wounds. Her body knitting together before his eyes.

It was the ultimate treasure, the holy grail of abilities. His wildest dreams had come true. Claire ran, but he was confident. He didn't even chase very fast. That was his first mistake.

The man in the hallway was the second.

Peter Petrelli, though he wouldn't learn the name until days later. Sylar had effortlessly thrown some locker doors at the other man, intended to merely brush him aside.

How they had ended up at the edge of the building he wasn't sure, except suddenly they were falling. The intruder, thankfully, broke his fall. He'd been so shocked that he hadn't been able to do more than cushion his own fall with telekinesis. There simply hadn't been time.

He was uninjured enough to get up, crawl away, furious at himself for being so stupid, for toying with the other man when he could have killed him with a thought, brushed him aside with ease. He comforted himself with the knowledge of his death, he was out of the way, but the cheerleader had escaped.

Then, he ran into Eden. Precious, wonderful, beautiful, hateful woman. The power of persuasion was a truly heady tonic.

Imprisonment at the Company had been torture but he'd endured it, gained strength. He knew how the body worked, had studied it at length by now. He knew he was being drugged, knew how to work the poisons out of his system at unnatural speeds.

He'd never expected Eden would turn the gun on herself. Suicide was a mortal sin, it was incomprehensible. He could have stopped the bullet, but she'd pulled that trigger so quickly. She hadn't given him time to understand that she was truly willing to go through with it.

What a waste.

Finally he escaped, failed to get the Cheerleader again. He knew she'd be under the closest of guard now and decided to wait, come back later. At a time when they least expected it. In the meantime he had one last name from the list.

Zane Taylor.

When Taylor had opened his door with the name "Doctor Suresh" gliding off his tongue Sylar's heart had skipped several beats. Pretending to be the doctor came without thought, an easy way to get inside, see what this man could do without arousing suspicion. In the back of his mind he slowly put the pieces together. Dr. Chandra Suresh was dead but he had told Sylar about his son back in India. Not much, that was true. Mostly he talked about his daughter Shanti if he spoke of his family at all.

His son, Dr. Mohinder Suresh, was also a geneticist. If he had come to Americabecause of his father's death, then he must have found Zane Taylor's name on the board as well. Was he continuing Chandra's work? Or was he just trying to find information about his father's life and death. Either way, Sylar knew he had to meet the man.

Disposing of Zane Taylor had been easy work. His power of liquefaction wasn't spectacular, but certainly interesting. It would make a nice show for the young Suresh at any rate. Sylar had kept the scene as tidy as possible, hidden the body, taken his shirt. He wanted to try and fit the part. Just like he would eventually dress in Gabriel's old garb to visit his mother, he felt he needed something to go with this false identity. The band shirts that Taylor had sported worked well.

He studiously tried to summon up some of his old Gabriel personalityin order to hide the killer beneath. When he opened the door at the doctor's arrival, however, his breath had been knocked from his chest. He'd seen a picture of Chandra's son but the boy in the photo looked nothing like the man standing before him.

Dark caramel skin, thick, curly hair, bright eyes and a smile that for the next few days he could never get enough of. It had nearly blown his cover right there as his brain momentarily froze, but fortunately he rapidly regained his wits, invited Mohinder inside.

The wonder in his eyes, the amazement and joy when Sylar -_Zan_e- showed off his new power was a thrill. Mohinder saw just how special he was. He understood. He wanted to see it again and again, document it, study it, but yet at the same time he paid attention to Sylar as a person. Discussions about genetics and philosophy came easily. When Mohinder divulged that he was going to seek out other people on the list Sylar knew without a doubt that this man's arrival in his life had been destined.

It was a shame that eventually the sham would have to end. Mohinder would lead him to the list and then Sylar would take it. Everything he wanted, needed would be his. Except that Sylar kept passing up opportunities to get the list. He could have forced it out of Mohinder if he'd wanted to. However, while he was still getting what he wanted it was easy to delay, put off the inevitable.

Dale was a precious treat. Super-hearing was one of the big ones, an ability he craved with such ferocity that it took all of his self control not to rip the woman to shreds right there in front of Mohinder. She'd known it too, heard it in his heart.

She hadn't trusted 'Zane' and she'd been right not to. That night he took her power, reveling in the sensation, the thrill. The next day had been agony. Every little sound had tried to force him to the brink of madness. Once he'd known how to hear everything the human ear was capable of he'd not been able to shut it out. Eventually he'd gotten control but not nearly quickly enough.

Was that what had tipped Mohinder off?

Before that day, before Dale, the two men had grown close. Unbelievably close. Sylar wouldn't have thought it possible, the things he found himself confiding in this man who was both relative stranger and at the same time the one person in the entire world who knew him better than anyone else. It certainly didn't take long for Sylar to grow to hate the name Zane.

More than just friendship was there, beneath the surface. Sylar couldn't help taking every chance available to simply admire the other man. He'd never felt this way towards anyone before. There had been some teenage fumbling, of course, but this was new and it was decidedly not Sylar. This was all Gabriel and as such Sylar had refused to act on it. Mohinder was too polite to do anything either, though Sylar often caught the other man returning the long gazes. At meals there were the occasional accidental brushes, sideways glances. Much longer and one of them would have broken down, but they all too quickly ran out of time.

Either Mohinder was a very good actor or Sylar had been too distracted by his raging internal conflict to notice. Mohinder must have made the discovery a long enough while before acting on it, the treachery had been clearlyplanned out in advance.

Sylar was sure that Mohinder would never fully comprehend what had happened on that day. He'd shown Sylar the entire list. Maybe it was a fake, given that Mohinder knew the truth by then it quite likely was, but Sylar hadn't known that at the time. He'd seen the list and frozen.

He'd felt like he was being tugged in two directions at once. He had the list, this was it. He had told himself repeatedly that he would kill Suresh once he got it and go on with his life, do what he was meant to do. But when the time came Sylar knew he couldn't bring himself to kill this man. He had no abilities but he was special in his own way. Sylar killed for a very specific reason and Mohinder didn't fall under that category. He didn't want to snuff out the other man's life. It had been a shocking revelation.

The words he'd spoken then had been perhaps the truest since he'd first killed.

"You have no idea how alone I used to feel…"

He thought he would try and keep things as they were for as long as he could. He knew that eventually Mohinder would figure it out, but Sylar wouldn't end it prematurely. It would be a waste. He simply couldn't.

When he'd next asked about the list out of pure curiosity, wanting to know if Mohinder could improve it, find more people, it had seemed harmless. Now he knew that Mohinder must have thought Sylar was fishing for more names, more victims. It was true he would have very much liked more names, but at the same time it was also very wrong.

Then the tea, and the betrayal. As he'd passed out Sylar had looked at Mohinder through a broken man's eyes. That brief moment was nothing but pain. What was left of his human side had been shattered.

Mohinder had betrayed him.

Mohinder had taken away his abilities.

Mohinder had tortured him with that damned tuning fork, knowing full well how much Dale's abilities could hurt him. He'd pressed a gun to his head and Sylar had talked his way out of death. Delayed the doctor, suffered through an agonizing spinal tap.

Yet he'd channeled that hurt, that rage and betrayal into fuel. He repeated what he'd done in Company hands, managed to burn off just enough of the curare to have enough strength to turn off the IV and shortly afterwards it had all come flooding back. So when Mohinder pulled that trigger the physical bullet had been stopped with ease, but Mohinder had killed what compassion Sylar had left. He'd given Suresh a chance to save his own life, had demeaned himself by acting helpless. The gunshot had been the final betrayal.

Yet, even then... He'd become the killer again, started to torture the other man for the list, but hadn't done much more than toss him around a bit, bloodied his lip and inflicted a few lasting bruises before Petrelli showed up.

The memories of those days blurred past.

Abruptly Sylar realized that he was tangled in visions of the past.Dreaming? The last moments had been less intense, less detailed.

With a groan Sylar felt himself regaining consciousness, awareness. His head ached and felt as if it would split in two. He shifted position a touch, wincing slightly at a twinge in his side. A bruise there, definitely, nothing worse though.

His mind sharpened as he regained control over his senses, Sylar forced his eyes wide in a rush, taking in his situation as quickly as possible. Darkness, for the most part. Floor, wall, rough, wooden.

Footsteps.

Sylar was on his feet in a flash. He reached out with his powers only to find himself knocked off his feet, landing hard back on the floor, his head swimming.

"I suggest you not try that again Mr. Sylar, you'll find that you're rather outclassed at the moment." A tall, leggy redhead strode into view, a light overhead switching on abruptly, forcing him to wince once more. The stranger was dressed in various shadesof ragged and torn gray clothing. Many layers, it seemed, not for warmth but to compensate for all the holes, great gaps in the threadbare and worn affair.

Sylar frowned, glared at this stranger and then got back to his feet, ignoring his somewhat blurry vision and pounding headache. He'd hold off on attack, he decided, for now. Whoever she was, she at least had some new tricks up her sleeves. It would be better to study her first, while she was intent on talking and not fighting. The fact that he'd been unconscious and at this stranger's mercy was a good sign that she wanted something more than his death.

"Who are you?" Sylar demanded roughly, his voice creaking oddly. How long had he been out for? "How did I get here?" Where here was though, he wasn't sure. The back of some restaurant kitchen, perhaps, or a cheap laboratory? The light was dim and he was also not going to take his eyes off this stranger right now.

She chuckled, keeping out of arm's reach, right hand resting on her hip. Her hair was long and a bit grimy. It was kept tied back but there were snarls and tangles throughout. Whoever she was, she'd clearly been living rough.

"My name is not important. In fact its probably more important that I don't tell you." She chewed on her lower lip a little, an obvious nervous habit. "I'm from the future and I just saved your life."

Sylar's glare only deepened. "Saved _my_ life?"

"Yes." The woman claiming to be from the future nodded with absolute confidence. "Peter Petrelli would have died, to be sure. At least his death would have been quick, yours would have been rather long and extremely painful."

Sylar's expression didn't change but he was certainly thinking hard. Somehow this woman had come out of nowhere, managed to knock him unconscious and then deflected his telekinesis, turned it back on him without warning. If she truly had traveled from the future then she must have multiple powers and there were only two ways he knew of for that to happen.

"You're like Petrelli aren't you?"

The woman chuckled dryly.

"I was told you were smart. Insane, deadly, but intelligent." She replied with a quirk of her lips. "Yes, I'm an Empath. Don't get cocky though, I've had most of your abilities for a lot longer then you have. I'm not like Peter, I'm in complete control here."

Sylar attacked. She was baiting him, he knew, but he couldn't let it go untested. He lashed out viciously with his mind, only to find his every blow neatly deflected, neutralized.

"And I'm not even breaking a sweat." She rolled her eyes. "I shouldn't have expected you to be reasonable. Still, now you've got that out of your system, maybe you'll listen."

"You've got my attention." Sylar bit out. He was far from defeated, but the longer he kept his other powers a secret the more likely it was that he'd find the proper opportunity to exploit.

"Peter Petrelli destroyed a virus two days ago. You should be familiar with it, the Shanti virus. You were infected with one of the strains until quite recently, I believe. That, however, was a relatively safe strain. Strain 138, which was kept in a vault owned by the Company, was an extremely contagious form of the disease. If it had gotten free most of the world's population would have been wiped out with a year." She explained, pacing a little as she talked. "What he and those who were with him don't know is that it wasn't entirely destroyed. Peter used his Nuclear Induction to vaporize the virus; however, the smallest amount survived, mutated, changed, and now its living in his blood. Its not Strain 138 any more. Its the plague to end all plagues. The plague that will wipe out the entire human race. In the world where I come from you set it free when you killed Peter. You and Doctor Suresh were the first of its victims. You were at ground zero. You had the most exposure, more than anyone else, in quantities that would never be seen again. Even so, it still took you four months to die and, according to the records we found, you were powerless and in agony the entire time."

"You could be making all this up." Sylar put forth, though for some reason he was finding himself entertaining the possibility that this might just be the truth. He certainly wouldn't believe it without evidence, but he was willing to listen, for the moment.

"I assure you I'm not," the woman replied. "Unfortunately I have no proof except my own existence. This disease infects the talented and normal humans alike. When you died it destroyed the body and the mind equally, but in smaller doses it goes for the mind first. The talented lose their powers first and it's almost a safeguard against the disease because eventually you lose your mind entirely. We kept our sanity longer, but that was it.

"It spread slowly but it was airborne. As far as we could tell it was capable of surviving endlessly in the very air we breathe, dormant, just waiting for a living host. Quarantine was all but impossible, once it was out it would not die. Most of the world took years to succumb. It took two centuries for the last of usto die. All that's left now are the immortals. Miracle or curse, we're immune. Up until he died, Peter's regenerative abilitykept the disease prisoner. As long as he lived itwas inert. It didn't spread, caused no damage. So, like him, we are immune to it. I come from a world where I only know of three other people, on the _entire planet_, who still live. There might be more, we really don't know, but it doesn't matter. The earth is dead. The only saving grace is that, unlike Peter, we don't carry the disease. Otherwise I would never have been able to return to this time without infecting you all."

"So what you're saying is that you want me to spare Petrelli?" Sylar scoffed.

"Yes." She cut in before he could continue. "I will not interfere with events except to keep Peter alive. You try to harm him again and I will be there to stop you. I have the power to save this planet and if I have to kill you I will."

Sylar frowned at that, seeing the flaw in her logic immediately, her actions didn't quite make sense. She seemed to know exactly who he was, and yet this ostensible hero wasn't set on stopping the serial killer. Just one man needed to live. At once it made her story both more realistic and more ridiculous. If she wanted to ensure that Peter lived, surely killing him would be the safest bet.

"I've warned you. I won't answer any more questions." She declared sternly as Sylar began to open his mouth to voice his confusion. He certainly wasn't going to be silent just because she said so, but once again he wasn't given a choice. Without warning the strange woman was suddenly standing directly in front of him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Enjoy your trip!" She exclaimed in a falsely sunny voice and Sylar was once again tugged out of existence to appear far away.

Unlike with Hiro and Peter though, the woman stayed behind.

-------------

The time traveler sighed wearily after Sylar vanished and pulled a battered cell phone out of her flimsy pocket. She flipped it open, holding it where she could see the screen and hit the speed-dial absently. There was an odd sound as a connection was established.

"Its done. Peter Petrelli is still alive." She announced.

The response was a text message.

Wireless: Sylar?

"Alive too."

Wireless: Why?

"I did a reading on him before he woke up. I hate to let a murderer walk free, but it seems we might need him."

Wireless: What would we need someone like him for? He's just going to keep trying to kill Petrelli.

"Maybe, I don't know. We'll deal with that if we have to. After what I've seen we're changing the plan."

Wireless: . . .

Wireless: Tell me everything.


	5. Reflection

Mohinder let out a long sigh as he collapsed into bed. It wasn't a familiar one but it was definitely comfortable. He was currently in the Petrelli's home in New York and his mind was in a daze. Had he really gone home only just this morning? Had he really found Sylar waiting for him in his kitchen? Had Elle nearly died? Had he felt that jolt down his spine as Sylar's large frame had wrapped around his own, even when he thought he was about to die?

Nathan, Peter, how much pain had he inadvertently brought on them both? The only thing that was stopping Mohinder from weeping in despair was that, miracle of miracles, even with all that damage done, Claire's blood had brought about a resurrection. Nathan Petrelli had returned to the realm of the living.

Claire and possibly Peter's blood could raise the dead. Of all the strange abilities he'd seen so far this seemed the most unnatural. Religion was uncertain territory for Mohinder, being so scientifically minded while being raised with religion none-the-less. Still, bringing back the dead definitely fell into the religion category. He needed to think about all this but at the moment he simply didn't have the energy.

Peter was fine, physically. He and his brother had been separated for four months while most everyone believed Peter to be dead. It was such a long time for the two men who had always relied so much on one another, despite having completely opposite personalities. After they'd all arrived at the Petrelli home Mohinder had been happy to leave them alone to talk.

Angela Petrelli had efficiently explained the cover story she'd worked up. They would tell people that Nathan had been moved to a secret location, in the care of the best doctors money could buy. No one would question the need for secrecy after the assassination attempt. Apparently no one other than some clandestine cleaning crew had seen the amount of blood Nathan had lost. Nathan could stay "in hospital" for as long as they needed, there had even been talk of faking his death. How questions from the hospital staff had been quelled, Mohinder didn't know. All he did know was that Angela was desperately trying to keep what Claire's blood had done a secret.

Claire had, herself, been determined to go public only a few short days ago. She found herself proud of her biological father for having had the courage to try. It was the first time he'd ever really impressed her. Obviously it hadn't been a good idea, in retrospect, but at least they were all alive to fight another day.

The common consensus was that the Company must have sent the assassin. This had just become a war.

They arranged for Claire's mother and brother to go deeper into hiding. It broke Claire's heart but she wasn't going to sit back and let these people hurt anyone else, refusing outright to go into hiding with them. As such she was staying with the Petrellis and tomorrow additional plans would be made.

Mohinder couldn't spare much thought in his own mind for the Company right now. Thankfully he'd heard from Matt. Matt had needed to use his powers to nudge the process along but he'd gotten Molly out without incident. They were safe. Bob wouldn't try and touch Molly for now, he still wanted to keep Mohinder on his side.

At least Mohinder knew what he, personally, was going to do as far as the Company was concerned. It would be one of the hardest things he'd ever done but he was going to go back to working there and pretend like nothing had happened. Whether the Company knew where he'd gone and who he'd been with or not, he was fairly certain they'd ignore it for now. They'd watch him like a hawk, Bennet too, but that was alright.

Facing Bennet again was an almost terrifying prospect but he knew now he had to do it. If they were behind Nathan's shooting then they had crossed a moral line. He would find out the truth. If they had to he and Bennet would become spies in a war against this massive organization. This time, however, they would have more resources. They wouldn't be alone.

It would certainly be easy for them to maintain a cold hatred for each other, to pretend they wanted nothing to do with one another. It was almost true anyway. So when they found the right moments they would work together at taking this machine down from the inside.

Yes, that foray into dangerous territory was the easy decision.

Sylar, on the other hand…

As Mohinder lay there in bed he tried to focus on absolutely anything else, but his mind kept sliding back down the slippery slope that led inexorably towards Sylar.

From what he understood Claire had taken charge after Sylar had disappeared with Mohinder. She'd had to knock Peter unconscious, unfortunately. Peter was a great guy but when his emotions got out of hand he was unable to control his power and nothing and no one meant more to Peter then his brother. Claire wasn't sure why she had decided to hit Peter over the head with a surgical tray, but it turned out to be a surprisingly simple solution.

Afterwards, she'd fished Peter's phone out of his pocket and called Matt. Peter had mentioned Matt and Molly when he'd come to her for help and so that was who she decided to reach out to. Matt had been in Molly's room at the Company when the call came in. As soon as Molly heard that Mohinder was in danger she'd picked out his location.

Almost the moment Claire had shut Peter's phone Nathan's, forgotten on the bedside table, had begun ringing. It had been Angela Petrelli and Claire had hastily explained to her what had happened. She didn't like the extremely manipulative matriarch at all but Angela Petrelli could help keep things quiet. Claire was determined to give Nathan her blood and she refused to accept any possibility except that it was going to work. She wasn't entirely comfortable with covering up the truth; however, she also knew it had to be done for now. She hadn't even needed to ask, Mrs. Petrelli had simply told her it would be taken care of.

To say that Claire wasn't fond of Mohinder would be a massive understatement. Still, she also couldn't leave anyone at Sylar's mercy. So when Peter woke up to find Claire pulling a long needle full of blood from her own arm, intent on injecting it into Nathan, she'd relayed Sylar and Mohinder's location. Peter's hero complex came in handy and he'd managed to calm down enough to keep it together so long as his friend was in danger.

Mohinder didn't know how he felt about all that except for the automatic and pervasive guilt, relief, shame and, even though he would deny it, regret as well. So many emotions writhed and tangled underneath his skin that he couldn't sort himself out.

He knew with a disturbing amount of certainty that if Peter had not shown up when he had that Mohinder would have been utterly lost. As it was he could barely find himself among the wreckage. As much as he hated himself for it, when Sylar had been pretending to be Zane Mohinder had been intensely attracted to him. His intelligence, his constant stream of enthusiastic questions, his strange good looks. Mohinder knew, though he would deny it, that Sylar had caught him in those longing stares when he thought the other was oblivious.

All that had changed when Mohinder had learned just who his traveling companion really was. His path became single-minded. He couldn't think about 'Zane', this was Sylar. He needed to stop this killer now and avenge his father's murder. He'd been consumed by guilt for having led Sylar right to Dale Smithers. He should have seen Zane's headache for what it really was, Sylar's inability to properly control his newly stolen power.

There had been no room in his mind for thoughts of the man he had been getting to know. It was clearly all an act, a way for Sylar to get his hands on the list. Sylar might even have been getting a sick enjoyment out of messing with the son of one of his victims.

Mohinder had pulled that trigger knowing that Zane was a persona and nothing more. He'd known that he was saving countless innocent lives. He was fulfilling his duty as a son.

It was only afterwards, after Sylar had called looking for help and then slipped away as Mohinder dialed 911, that Mohinder wondered how much of Zane was real. It started then, the doubt. It was small because Sylar's crimes were so large and they possessed so much strength, but the doubt was always there, if not consciously thought about. Then Sylar died at Kirby Plaza, or so he had thought, and there was no point in thinking about such things.

Then the second phone call came.

Sylar back, alive,and he was threatening Molly.

So much had happened after that there'd been no time to think. No, he'd been in various stages of shock and exhaustion ever since then.

It was only after this morning's events that those thoughts had slowly surfaced back to his conscious mind. He remembered seeing 'Zane' sneaking his own sly glances. Realized that, impossible though it might seem, this ostensibly heartless serial killer had some sort of fixation on him. It couldn't be anything near love, Mohinder knew the man couldn't possibly be capable on it. The alternative, unfortunately, was much more terrifying: that his intentions were considerably crueler.

Now… now he didn't know what to think. Sylar had been insistent, forceful, and yet surprisingly tender. It was a strange combination that didn't fall securely into any category or definition that Mohinder knew of. Despite his deep-seated revulsion at being kissed by the man who had murdered his father, friends and so many others, he'd also immediately experienced a terrifyingly strong urge to return those kisses. Sylar knew this now; there was no doubt of that. Mohinder had barely spent a minute at the man's mercy and he'd given in to the rush of endorphins, that surge of pleasure, the desire.

He would have given Sylar everything he wanted.

Afterwards, he would have hated himself.

Even contemplating it now he shuddered and felt himself losing control. How could he possibly live with this? Was he able to forget about those murders, to actually feel something for Sylar because his own hands were now covered in blood? How could he hate a man so much and still feel these things?

Why couldn't he get Zane's shy smile out of his mind?

How long before he had to face the man again? Not if, when. Where Sylar had gone, what had stopped him from killing Peter, no one could say. It was a mystery, not one the others had yet discussed. They were on their guard, but they were also going to give themselves time to get situated before indulging in speculation. Too much had happened, but Sylar's return _was_ inevitable.

Mohinder, however, had been able to think of almost nothing else. He'd insisted that his presence only put the others in danger. They wouldn't hear of it though, Peter had even threatened to keep Mohinder there against his will. Mohinder's knowledge had saved Nathan's life, he couldn't possibly have known Sylar would follow, couldn't have known what would happen. Peter insisted that he would protect his friend. He would not take no for an answer.

Nathan was already making plans to organize their resistance, the ensuing secret war. The man had been dead just a few hours ago and yet he was already using his political mindset and skills to make plans. Mohinder couldn't think much about that though. His thoughts were ravaged and consumed by Sylar.

He'd resigned himself to staying where he was. So now he was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was utterly exhausted and yet he was still unable to sleep.

It was going to be a very long night.

-------------

Sylar had only teleported twice in his life. Now twice in one day. At least, he thought it was one day. Running a hand through his bristly hair he sighed as he studied the night sky. Teleporting like the Asian kid and Petrelli did was disorienting but that was about it. What this woman had done to him though… It had been like being sucked into a black hole. He'd felt stretched and compressed all at once. Then suddenly a release, a snap back to reality.

He'd found himself returned to the motel in the middle of nowhere. There was a cop car parked out front with yellow police tape strung around the area. He didn't need to eavesdrop to know that they must be extremely confused. The roof of the room he'd rented was quite thoroughly wrecked and they weren't likely to figure out how it had been so thoroughly destroyed any time soon. The detective that had arrived at the scene, however, was focused on the spot where he'd had Petrelli pinned. Splinters of wood lay discarded in a pool of blood that they would have to suspect was the result of a murder, for no normal person could survive that much blood-loss.

All this assuming that there hadn't been any witnesses. Either way it hardly mattered.

Sylar watched from a distance for several long minutes, thinking back on what he'd been told, trying to decide how much he was willing to believe. Certainly he needed to find out if Petrelli really had 'destroyed' strain 138 of the Shanti virus. That was the one bit he could confirm easily enough, he supposed. The rest, however, was far more nebulous.

The mere fact that the woman had been able to deflect his most refined ability and been able to teleport him in a manner Sylar had never seen before were two convincing points in her favour. Surely if there was another Empath out there who was not from the future, especially one that powerful, someone would have heard of her. That was, of course, assuming it actually was a woman. Her gender and appearance might have been a deception in and of itself. Still, she'd certainly seemed confident and he hadn't detected those telltale patterns in her heartbeat that would have indicated that she was lying.

Sylar scowled as he thought about Petrelli and what he had interrupted. He didn't even really care about the man's powers anymore; he just wanted Peter to die in agony for interrupting when he had.

Sylar closed his eyes, remembering the sweet taste of Mohinder's skin. His spicy scent, the glorious moans of pleasure slipping out to reveal how the man truly felt despite doing everything he could to deny it. Then Mohinder suddenly kissing him back, just as aggressive, passionate. Sylar felt his body responding at the mere memory of it, even though it had lasted only a handful of seconds.

He balled his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms. Once he'd started, Sylar had been so intoxicated that he'd been prepared to act on his desires whether Mohinder was willing or not. Sure, he'd hoped to convince his gorgeous doctor, but he was certainly not going to be denied. Now though, he remembered the flutter in his stomach when Mohinder had reciprocated, how his blood had burned with passion. Mohinder's determined resistance was intoxicating. No one stood up to him like Mohinder; but god, knowing without a doubt in that moment that Mohinder wanted him just as much had been the closest to pure bliss that Sylar had ever felt.

His eyes snapped open in shock as this revelation hit his mind. It had even been stronger than the thrill he felt when he acquired a new power. Sylar's head spun wildly at the thought. How could such a simple, un-evolved man have so much power over him? It was utterly unacceptable and his survival instinct screamed at him to purge the weakness, but in this he was disgustingly helpless.

How had this happened?

He had to have Mohinder, his body ached with desire to see the other man pinned beneath him. Yet the idea of merely taking what he wanted suddenly left a bitter taste in his mouth. He told himself it really wasn't an issue, Mohinder had already shown that he'd be easy to convince. Still, if it came down to it, could he still just take what he wanted like he would with everything else?

He was suddenly terrified that the answer to that question was 'no'.

Sylar rubbed his eyes before shaking his head as if he could fling off those feelings with the gesture. This had to be the result of whatever that woman had done to him. There was no way one man could make him think such utterly weak and pathetic thoughts. He was off balance, not thinking clearly. Of course he wouldn't let some feeble protesting stop him. The very idea was ridiculous!

He needed to clear his head, plan his next move. Petrelli would have taken them back to his brother, but after that… well Peter was a laughably predictable creature. They would retreat to what they considered safety: home, back to New York.

It would be a long flight but that was fine. He needed the time to cool off, decide what to do next. By the time he arrived he would have his head back on straight and a plan in mind. This moment of weakness would be long behind him.

Right?

Of course it would.

-------------

Despite fighting through a stream of nebulous nightmares, Mohinder slept well into the next day. It was almost noon when he reluctantly dragged himself back to consciousness. Normally sleeping that long would have left him feeling mildly disgusted with himself but of all the reasons for self-loathing he had right now, sleeping in was right at the bottom of the list. Regardless, it had been an exhausting three days and his body had needed the rest.

After a long shower Mohinder emerged to find his clothes had been washed and pressed, probably by the Petrelli's maid. The idea was utterly foreign to him but he was grateful to have at least the familiarity of his own clothing, without the filth and blood from the previous day.

After he finished dressing he made the bed out of habit before sitting down on the edge, letting his head fall into his hands. Clearly the others had decided to leave him alone for now and he wasn't sure he wanted the presence of others at the moment. Now that he'd shaken off the lethargy of sleep his mind was spinning. Peter would only have to sneak a peak into his mind for a few seconds to get hit with a barrage of thoughts, mostly centering on Sylar and all of them highly embarrassing. If he was exceedingly lucky Peter would respect his mental privacy, but Mohinder expected that the other man wouldn't be able to contain his concernor curiosity. He knew too well from living with Matt that telepathy was all too easy to use even accidentally.

He wouldn't be able to hide upstairs forever, but he also couldn't bear to have Peter pick up on what had happened. He couldn't deal with the look of shock, confusion, revulsion or all three on the man's face. Mohinder could hardly face himself! What would Peter think of him if he knew that Mohinder had been fervently kissing the man who had just nearly killed Peter for a third time? Not to mention that this time would have been far more permanent. There was no way Sylar would have taken pity on the younger Petrelli, especially not right then.

Easy as that, Mohinder's thoughts were filled once again with nothing but Sylar. The terrifying fury that had filled the man's eyes, Mohinder had seen him nearly _trembling_ with rage as he shattered that chair. It was nothing short of a miracle that the other man had survived.

_Right, and how had he? What happened to Sylar?_

His gut twinged in worry.

_Worry? Oh god-_

As he placed the emotion he desperately tried to deny it. Surely it was worry over whomever could have been powerful enough to stop Sylar at that moment.

A_nyone that saved Peter would be an ally though…_

His thoughts betrayed him, his damned logic shattering that feeble argument into a million pieces tiny pieces. Hugging himself desperately, he let himself fall back onto the bed, burying his face into the feather-soft pillow. Tears leaked from his eyes as the crushing reality started to hit him.

He wanted to know what happened to Sylar. He didn't want Sylar to show up again, didn't want to face him, see him. Yet he also wanted to know that Sylar was still alive. Something inside of him wanted reassurance.

_Maybe he was right, maybe I am broken._

The conversation played over and over in his head, words and actions, thoughts and emotions. Like a broken record he couldn't stop, stuck on automatic repeat. It was almost like torture, and in a way that almost made him feel better. His masochistic urge to punish himself for what he'd thought, what he'd done, was being sated merely by reliving the events themselves.

How long he lay there replaying events, trying to make sense of the ocean he was drowning in, he wasn't sure. Only that the knock on the bedroom door jarred him out of his reverie quite some time later. He closed his eyes, trying to will the visitor away, but the second pair of knocks was harder, more insistent than the last.

"Dr. Suresh?" The voice that filtered through the door was so clearly filled with concern that it made Mohinder's stomach clench. He couldn't hide any longer, he supposed. At least the interruption had briefly freed his thoughts from Sylar's greedy grasp.

"Come in." He called back softly, pushing himself into a slightly more dignified sitting position. He couldn't wipe the tortured expression from his face but at least he could seem a little less pathetic.

To his surprise it wasn't Peter outside his door. Instead it was the older Petrelli brother. Mohinder's shock must have been written plainly on his face because as Nathan entered, shutting the door behind him, the man ran a hand through his hair and shrugged a little.

"Peter asked me to check on you." He explained, "He didn't come out and say it, but he thinks you're specifically avoiding him. So here I am."

Mohinder couldn't find the words to answer, especially as he i _had /i _ been avoiding Peter. So he merely shrugged in response, not meeting the other man's eyes.

"I never got a chance to thank you properly yesterday." Nathan continued, leaning up against the chest of drawers. "You saved my life. Or brought me back from the dead. I really don't understand it but if you hadn't known it was possible I'd be dead right now so… a simple thank you seems horribly inappropriate. If there's anything I can do to repay you, please, just ask."

Mohinder let out a long breath; at least this topic was easier to deal with. Surreal as that thought might be.

"That's very kind but I was just doing what I thought was right." He explained, finally meeting Nathan's eyes for a moment before settling his gaze back on the carpet again. "Besides, I nearly got Peter killed again. I can't possibly-"

"You can't blame yourself for that Doctor Suresh." Nathan cut him off, folding his arms over his chest. "Sylar's a madman and my brother wouldn't leave anyone at his mercy."

Mohinder just nodded, not really agreeing but not wanting to talk about Sylar.

"Right. Well there's food ready in the kitchen whenever you're feeling up to it." Nathan offered, straightening up once again. "Peter will take you back home whenever you want. Though if you're planning on going back to work..."

Mohinder let out a breath of air that almost sounded like a laugh.

"Don't worry Mr. Petrelli, I'm on your side in this. I don't know what Claire's told you, but I have no love for the Company. Its… complicated. Aside from trying to find a cure for the virus, well I only joined up in the first place to help Noah bring the Company down." The words were bitter. He'd been a fool to trust them, really. Now where was he? They'd turned him into a murderer! He couldn't honestly put all the blame on them, but since the incident in California Mohinder had been realizing more and more how Bob and the others had been manipulating i _him /i _ from the start. Finding a cure was important, but not at this cost.

"Well we don't have proof yet, but there really isn't anyone else who could have known what I was planning to do and would be willing to kill me for it." Nathan replied carefully, running a hand along his jaw. "Listen, while you're here, be careful what you say around my mother."

Mohinder quirked an eyebrow at this, straightening a little. He certainly hadn't expected that, especially given where they were at the moment.

"You don't think that she-"

Nathan shook his head and sighed, his gazing fixing on some spot out the window.

"I'm not really sure what my mother is capable of any more." He explained, lines of pain carving themselves onto his face. "I recently learned that she was one of the founding members of the Company. She's been willing to let a lot of horrible things happen, including letting Peter explode in the middle of New York. Maybe she didn't have anything to do with, well with what happened in Texas, but we can't risk it. I can't trust that she won't choose their side."

"I'm sorry to hear that." It was the only thing Mohinder could think of to say. How do you respond to something like that? Nathan just shrugged a little. It was clear that he wasn't comfortable talking about it, they all had things they didn't want to discuss.

"Well I'll leave you alone then, Doctor." Nathan strode towards the door, but paused as his fingers brushed the handle. "We would enjoy your company and like to hear your thoughts though, if you're feeling up to it. I don't want to pry, but we've all been through hell lately. Dwelling on the past, well you only lose yourself in it. Trust me on that. I've been there."

The sadness in Nathan's eyes touched something inside of Mohinder. He didn't know the elder Petrelli all that well, but the ghost of a tortured soul was suddenly glaringly apparent. They did say that misery shared was misery halved. Now Mohinder realized that he'd been selfishly hiding away while a man he considered his friend, and his family, were all suffering as well. Maybe he didn't want to discuss what had happened but there was good he could do here.

Mohinder got to his feet, forcing himself to straighten his posture.

"Just Mohinder, please." He told the other man, forcing his lips to twitch upwards a touch in some semblance of a smile as he held out a hand. Nathan gave him a searching look for a moment before reaching out and taking Mohinder's hand in his own, his grip firm.

"Only if you call me Nathan." He chuckled, just a little, and Mohinder felt his smile becoming somewhat more genuine.

"Well, Nathan, I think I'll take you up on that offer of food." He replied as they broke the handshake, "and then we can discuss our next move."


	6. Conversation

By the time night descended on New York Mohinder was feeling much better. Throwing himself into planning their little resistance made it easier to push all thoughts of Sylar from his mind. No one else seemed inclined to talk about him and for that Mohinder was infinitely grateful.

Nathan took charge easily, used to being a leader even if his political career was well over. While Angela Petrelli was gone they talked at length about lines of communication and how to bring Noah Bennet into their plans without alerting the others. Claire was very vocal and opinionated; she had something to say about nearly every subject they touched on. There was a palpable awkwardness between her and Mohinder but they had so far managed to avoid what seemed an inevitable confrontation.

Peter was most fervent about helping other talented people avoid winding up in the clutches of the Company. Setting up a headquarters of their own was an idea that was rather enthusiastically tossed around. Unfortunately they didn't have the resources to keep such a place safely hidden. It seemed that their best bet would be to keep things mobile. How they would help others with abilities would have to be determined on a case by case basis.

They agreed to reach out to everyone they could trust as quickly as possible. Matt could keep Molly safe for the time being. Hiro Nakamura needed to be tracked down. They didn't know where he and Adam had vanished to from the safe at Primatech, but Hiro would be an invaluable help. Peter winced visibly when Hiro's name was brought up. He insisted on being the one to talk to Hiro. He was determined to apologize for what he had done to him that day.

Now that Niki Sanders and DL Hawkins were both dead their son Micah would need to be protected. They wouldn't drag the young boy into their fight, but they'd do what they could to ensure his safety.

Claire brought up the Hatian and Mohinder fervently agreed. Unfortunately only Bennet knew how to contact him, so that would have to wait. Peter muttered something about a man named Claude but refused to elaborate. All he would say was that he was a friend who had no love for the Company.

Mohinder told the group about the girl in New Orleans, Monica, who would need to either be recruited or protected. The Company had chosen to let her go, thanks to Mohinder's insistence, but that didn't mean they would leave her alone indefinitely. They weren't sure how to approach those they didn't entirely trust yet, but that was a problem that could wait for another day.

"What about your list Mohinder?" Nathan asked after they'd run through all the people they already knew about that weren't loyal to the Company.

Mohinder winced reflexively, there were only painful memories associated with the List.

"I destroyed it after-" he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "After Sylar killed Peter in my apartment. I never generated a new one. The Company tried to talk me into it but I refuse to let that information get into the wrong hands… again." The memory of leading Sylar to more victims hurt as much now as it had then. Mohinder wanted to push that pain away, not dwell on it any longer, but bringing up Sylar yet again was dangerous territory and focusing on his agony was better than other things. From the sympathetic and slightly guilty expression on Peter's face it seemed there were good odds that he was picking up on those memories. "Besides, even if I could rebuild the program and my father's formula, my research had hit a brick wall until I obtained Sylar's DNA."

"Why _Sylar's_ DNA?" Claire asked with more than a touch of anger and disgust, a frown creasing her normally smooth features.

"Well…" Mohinder shifted uncomfortably. Though he did enjoy talking about his research, he was silently cursing the fact that everything in his life seemed to come back to that infuriating man. "I'm not entirely sure. I've never been able to determine the nature of his original ability. He certainly favours telekinesis but that wouldn't have enabled him to gain new powers. Whatever the reason, his DNA was able to offer unique insight. I really can't tell you any more than that."

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence between the four before Peter leaned forward, hesitantly.

"What about mine?" Peter asked cautiously, curious eyes meeting Mohinder's.

"I never did get a sample of your DNA." Mohinder conceded uncomfortably. "It's quite possible that it might help, but it doesn't change my opinion on the matter. It's far too big a risk."

Peter had just opened his mouth to reply when deep, darkly disconcerting laughter lanced through the room.

"Oh Peter, Peter, Peter," sneered Sylar's disembodied voice. "You've proven yourself inferior to me in every other way. Why should this be any different?" The air rippled and the man himself appeared, grinning and looking entirely too confident for having just appeared in the midst of four enemies. He was dressed quite similarly to how he had been that night in Kirby Plaza and seemed just as arrogantly pleased with himself as ever.

Mohinder, Peter, Nathan and Claire had been grouped down one end of a fairly long dining table, not far from the exit. Sylar had shimmered into view at the other end. He was well out of arm's reach but that had never been an issue for him. Mohinder took a moment to wonder why he hadn't blocked their escape route before his thoughts were shattered by Peter bursting from his chair. Peter grabbed hold of Claire's arm, pushing her behind him and towards his brother before flinging the other hand towards Sylar, electricity arcing from his palm. The crackling power hit an invisible wall two feet from Sylar's body, ricocheting off to scorch the wallpaper.

"I'm sure I could sit here deflecting your attacks all night Petrelli." Sylar taunted, though he seemed fairly bored with the proceedings. "But believe it or not I actually just came here to talk. If you insist on fighting me however, well I would be lying if I said I wouldn't enjoy tearing you limb from limb."

No one moved. Nathan was standing with a protective arm laced around Claire's shoulders, his eyes darting back and forth between his brother and Sylar. Claire's eyes were defiant, brave to the last, but it wasn't hard to tell that beneath her calm exterior she was terrified. If not for herself, then certainly for her beloved uncle who had only just escaped death at Sylar's hands the previous day.

Mohinder was the only one still sitting, his eyes glued to Sylar's form. If asked, he honestly couldn't have said whether he was simply resigned or in shock but he certainly didn't trust his legs to hold him upright at the moment.

"I have no reason to lie," Sylar continued with a smirk, anticipating the accusation. "If I'd come here with the intention of murdering you I certainly wouldn't have offered any warning." His eyes danced over to Claire. "You might want to shut up and listen now. The longer you make me wait the harder it will be for me to resist such… _temptation_." He hardly needed to say the words, the hunger in his eyes as he took in the blonde cheerleader was threatening enough.

Peter did not take threats against his niece sitting down, especially not from Sylar. His posture became aggressive again, opened his mouth to speak-

"Enough!" Mohinder shot to his feet at last, leaning forward with his fists resting on the table, glaring at Sylar and Peter in turn. The threat had brought him back to reality. His patience had worn thin these last few days and he couldn't just stand by and watch any longer. Everyone's eyes were on him now, each registering varying degrees of surprise.

"I know how you feel Peter, but now is not the time to act without thinking." He tried to keep his voice soft and calming, but the irritation was hard to suppress.

"And _you_," Mohinder turned his glare back onto Sylar, furious eyes meeting amused ones. "If you really have come here to talk, then _talk._ No more taunting, no more threats, just get to the _point_."

-------------

_Temper, temper Mohinder._

Sylar was easily distracted by the geneticist. Mohinder was usually so soft-spoken but he had this fiery streak that surfaced at the most unexpected of times. On the one hand, Sylar refused to take orders from anyone; especially a powerless, _normal_ human. On the other hand, seeing Mohinder like this made something inside of Sylar _purr_.He should have been making the other man regret ever speaking to him like that. Instead he wanted to pounce on the Indian man and make his already pounding heart race even faster.

Mohinder's face was flushed with emotion. His eyes were filled with a combination of defiance, irritation and fear. It was intoxicating. He wanted to claim Mohinder as his own, collect him like one of his many powers. Now, however, was not the time. He was restraining the urge to kill the Empath and the Cheerleader, he could restrain this particular urge as well.

Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't have a _little_ fun.

Sylar laughed. One might even say it was a chuckle, but laughter never sounds quite right coming from the mouth of a psychotic serial killer.

"Such _bold_ words, Doctor." Sylar's lips twitched into a dangerous grin. "Especially coming from the most defenseless person in the room." He raised an eyebrow, pausing for a moment to give Mohinder a chance to retort. When all he received in reply was more angry glaring, Sylar shrugged and slipped fluidly into the chair at the end of the table. As he sat he also gave an abrupt telekinetic shove to the other four, pushing them back into their own seats.

"I _would_ like to get on with this though." Sylar's voice was brimming with amusement. "I thought that perhaps you might be interested in knowing what stopped me from killing this fool." He fixed his sights on Peter once more, wondering if he'd be stupid enough to continue trying to fight. It seemed, however, that he was at least grudgingly prepared to listen.

Sylar's audience members each straightened a little. Though the topic had not been discussed, they had all spared long moments alone to ponder that particular question. Sylar took their change in posture for what it was, a show of interest, and continued on.

"Before I tell you though, I have to know something." He continued. "Tell me Peter, is it true that you recently destroyed a particularly virulent strain of the Shanti virus?"

Peter nearly jumped out of his seat. "How do you know about that?" He demanded. There were only three people who'd been there at the end, and there was no way any of them had talked to Sylar about it.

"So it is true…" Sylar mutter thoughtfully, provoking curious glances from the others. "From your shock I'm guessing it's not a well known fact."

"Well, the Company knows." Peter replied cautiously, with no small amount of confusion. "Otherwise, only Parkman, Nathan and I knew it was destroyed…"

Sylar made a small noise of disgust at the mention of the Company and Mohinder found himself wondering what Sylar had planned with regards to the Company. They'd made the mistake of stripping him of his powers and Mohinder had seen the look in Sylar's eyes when he'd learned how he'd been infected.

"Not the Company… huh, she might actually have been telling the truth." Sylar mused, mostly to himself.

"Who?" Mohinder pressed, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"She didn't tell me her name." Sylar explained, leaning back in his chair, sorting his thoughts into order. "If she's to be believed, she's an Empath from the future."

There were a few long moments of stunned silence but the looks of shock quickly transformed to that of interest. Peter had already had a visit from the future, had even traveled in time himself. Mohinder had been there when the Hiro from the future had delivered his message of 'Save the Cheerleader, Save the World'. At the time he hadn't believed it, but he knew better now.

"Someone like me?" Peter was clearly excited by the idea. Sylar just gave the slightest of nods.

"She claimed she was from 200 years in the future. A future where the human race has been reduced to three people with _darling_ Claire's ability, and it's all because of you." Sylar delighted in speaking those words. The flash of anguish that flickered over Peter's face was even more delicious.

"How?" Nathan's voice cut through the silence, pulling Sylar from his enjoyment of Peter's torment. It was an even stronger reaction than he'd imagined.

"When Peter here destroyed that virus," Sylar explained, finding just that right inflection to make Petrelli squirm. "It wasn't entirely destroyed. Not only that but your _radiation_" - Sylar casually formed a ball of energy in his hand, watching it flare in and out of existence with clear pleasure - "changed the virus, mutated it. Now _apparently_ this new plague flows in your blood and only those regenerative powers of yours keep it from wiping out all of humanity."

Peter's stricken look made Sylar want to laugh with delight, though he restrained himself. It was the next best thing to inflicting physical agony on the other man.

"Wait a minute," Mohinder interjected. "That doesn't make any sense. If this mutated virus is in Peter's blood, then shouldn't it have been released yesterday?"

Sylar shrugged, "She didn't tell me much. Only that in her future the three of us were the first to die. Well, I killed Peter." He shot the man a challenging look, but Peter was just staring at his hands.

"Why tell you at all?" Mohinder's mind was running with possibilities. He wouldn't ask why this stranger had let Sylar live. The question was near the forefront of his mind, but asking it would only provoke the dangerous man.

"You mean why not kill me and tell _him_ instead?" Sylar shot back, his posture shifting to become more intimidating. Mohinder just nodded, ever so slightly. Sylar had an uncanny way of knowing exactly what was on his mind.

"Honestly, I have no idea." Sylar admitted reluctantly.

"He's telling the truth." Peter spoke up out of nowhere. "At least as far as he knows it."

Sylar looked rather put-off with the blatant reminder of the many powers Peter had that he didn't. Mind-reading in particular was one that he coveted. Unfortunately he also knew that, for the moment at least, he would have to put up with it. Sylar let the silence drag on, waiting for the inevitable question, lurking just around the corner.

"So why tell us?"

_'Good old Mohinder,'_ Sylar thought with amusement, forcing himself not to let those thoughts get more graphic. Not with the bloody mind reader now glaring at him across the table.

"Well we all know what an idiot _he_ can be," Sylar replied, purposely referring to Peter as if he wasn't sitting right there. " And I certainly don't want to die just because he was stupid enough to get himself killed."

"_Great_," Peter snarled suddenly. "So now you've delivered the message, why don't you get the hell out of here?"

Sylar just laughed. "Oh but I'm having so much fun! What reason would I have to leave?" That smiled danced on his lips again as he reached out with his mind, ignoring Peter entirely and running an invisible finger down Mohinder's spine. To his credit, the doctor only twitched, though the glare he shot in Sylar's direction was positively hateful. It only made Sylar grin more broadly; he did so love the way Mohinder looked when he was angry.

Then Peter was on his feet, leaning forward, tightly clenched fists digging into the table.

"Well I'd say I have the advantage here _Sylar_. Seeing as you don't dare kill me now."

Sylar got back to his feet as well, pulling his eyes reluctantly away from Mohinder to rest scornfully on Peter.

"Just because I won't kill you doesn't mean I won't beat you to within and inch of your life." He hissed back, his urge to rip into the other man surfacing violently once more. "You're hard enough to kill that I wouldn't even really have to hold back."

A fight probably would have broken out right then and there were it not for Mohinder's sudden stubborn presence, scrambling into the line of fire, arms outstretched.

"This is _not_ happening." He insisted firmly. His blazing eyes focused on Sylar. It was insanity. Mohinder had no abilities of his own and yet he had thrown himself between the two most powerful men on the planet without a second thought.

Sylar wanted to jump him right then and there, eyes tracing over the doctor greedily, unable to resist running another telekinetic finger along his collarbone. Mohinder gave a satisfying little shiver. He would have grabbed Suresh then and bent him hungrily over the table if it weren't for -_again_- Peter Petrelli. A repeat of last time would just mean evading pursuit once more and Sylar had already made his plans regarding the doctor before arriving this evening. He just had to be patient, it wouldn't be long now.

"Well I did say I wasn't here for a fight," he spoke playfully, deriving intense enjoyment from toying with them all. "So rather than make a liar out of myself-" He flashed a wicked smile and suppressed an amused laugh as all four people started when one of the windows slammed open. "See you soon!"

The room rippled unnaturally, and Sylar was gone.

-------------

It seemed like they sat there in silence for hours. Peter was understandably consumed with the devastating possibility that he might be responsible for the death of the entire human race. It was much worse than when he'd thought he was going to go nuclear in the middle of New York.

Mohinder, on the other hand, couldn't tear his mind away from Sylar's parting words. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that they had been meant for him and him alone. He supposed he should be afraid, planning some sort of escape, a way to go into hiding. Instead all he could think of was the way that invisible finger had run down his collarbone. It should have felt like a violation, but the shiver that had run through his body had been one of pleasure, not revulsion. He told himself it was a purely physical response, the product of having gone far too long without any kind of real intimacy. That tiny voice in his head though, oh it knew he was lying to himself.

It was Nathan's voice that finally dragged him out of his miserable reverie. He put a comforting hand over his brother's, squeezing it reassuringly. His concern for the younger Petrelli was practically radiating off of him.

"You can't let him get to you Pete. Even if it is true, we'll find a way to fix it. You know we will. Right doc?"

"Of course." Mohinder agreed with more confidence present in his voice than he actually felt. "The work I was doing with the Company was finding a cure for the Shanti virus. I'm well equipped to get to the bottom of this." He sat back a bit, thinking for a moment. "The virus you destroyed, did you know what strain it was?"

"Adam, he called it strain 138," Peter replied. "Mohinder, I saw a future where that strain got loose, how many people it killed. If- if this is even worse…" His voice died out, pain etched in his normally soft features. "God, I've made such a mess of things!"

Mohinder straightened then, catching Peter's gaze and holding it.

"You couldn't have known Peter." He assured the younger man, trying to be as comforting as possible. "If you used your power to destroy it then nothing should have survived. I actually have a hard time believing that anything could. You did the right thing. Fortunately there's an easy way to get to the bottom of this, I can take a sample of your blood back to my lab and find out the truth. If it is true, then I promise you I'll find a cure."

Peter didn't look very reassured but he nodded anyway, squeezing his brother's hand gratefully.

"I know you'll try your best Mohinder, but something else Sylar said keeps running through my mind." Peter frowned, thinking hard. "The time traveler claimed to be from 200 years in the future, right? But if the virus was supposed to have been released yesterday, and if it's so deadly, why wait so long to come back?"

"It could have taken that long to kill everyone." Claire suggested, though not with much conviction. "But if it took that long, surely someone would have come up with a cure. Right?"

"Not if the people who could have stopped it were among the first to die." Nathan supplied thoughtfully. Mohinder nodded slowly. It wasn't very likely that if it couldn't be cured in 200 years that he would be able to manage it, but on the other hand…

"Sylar said that the three of us were supposed to be the first to die." He mused, his focus turning inward. "I suspect that, at least at first, no one would have known what had happened, how it started. I'm the only living expert on the Shanti virus, and even if my research might have helped others, they may not have known it existed. If I was infected without knowing it then everyone at the Company might have been among the first to die as well." That seemed to perk up Peter's spirits a bit. He gave Nathan's hand one last squeeze before sitting back, running his fingers through his disappointingly short hair.

"Sounds like that might make a big difference," he conceded, though his expression was still pained. He tossed Mohinder a wry smile, small but still there. "I suppose with Sylar out of the picture I can manage not to die."

Mohinder returned the weak smile though it quickly faded as memories burst through his mental walls. Peter, invisibility fading, dropping to the ground with a piece of glass sticking out the back of his head. The wooden chair shattering, Peter's screams of pain.

"Ya, that helps a lot Mohinder." Peter groaned, rubbing his temples. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snoop but you just practically shouted that at me."

Mohinder winced visibly. He was suddenly fervently glad that it hadn't been certain _other_ thoughts Peter picked up on.

"I'm finding it rather hard not to think about how many times I've nearly gotten you killed Peter." He sighed, letting a trickle of amusement through at Nathan and Claire's bewildered expressions.

"Bloody mind readers," Nathan grumbled with annoyance. At the inquisitive glances from Mohinder and Claire he waved a hand distractedly, "Parkman." It was all he had to say. Mohinder lived with the man, after all.

"I guess we can't stay here anymore…" Claire spoke up out of left field. "Not now that Sylar knows where it is."

"No I guess not," Nathan conceded with a sigh. "At least Heidi and the boys are safely far away. We'll have to warn Mom though. She won't like it but she can't stay here right now. Sylar seems to prefer the direct approach, but we can't just assume he won't try and get to Claire through friends and family."

There was a murmur of agreement from around the table, followed by several long moments of awkward silence. Mohinder could feel those dangerous thoughts trickling back into his mind and cast out desperately for a safer topic.

"So Peter, why don't you tell me about this Adam? Is his ability _exactly_ the same as Claire's?" He asked with genuine enthusiasm.

Peter, however, just groaned.


	7. Rumination

Mohinder woke up the next morning back in his own bed.

Peter had eventually been persuaded to talk about Adam in the abstract, though not what had passed between the two men. Mohinder had thought the idea of two people (of no discernable relation) with identical abilities was interesting enough, but when Peter divulged that Adam was supposed to be 400 years old Mohinder's jaw had dropped. Claire had been paying rapt attention as well, the realization that her abilities meant immortality slowly sinking in. It wasn't every day you found out that you might live forever.

Peter hadn't wanted to talk about how he knew Adam though. So instead Nathan had provided what his mother had told him about Adam's relation to the Company. It was all certainly food for thought.

Somewhere in the conversation Claire seemed to warm, just a fraction, to Mohinder. Though only in that she offered to tell about another example of different people with the same powers. To say that Nathan didn't like to discuss his ability was an understatement, but once Claire told them about West he'd definitely been interested.

The conversation had managed to cheer Peter up a little, and eventually talk turned to the more serious issues of the present. There were arrangements that needed to be made. Mohinder insisted that he had to get back to work the next day if he wanted to keep his access to the Company's resources, more important now than ever. So after dropping Nathan and Claire off temporarily at a hotel, Peter had taken Mohinder back to his lab. Not actually _in_ the lab though, of course. They did want to avoid the security cameras.

Peter hadn't been comfortable being back at Issac's loft. The last time he'd been there Issac had tried to shoot him and ended up killing Simone instead; unpleasant memories to say the least.. Mohinder had muttered something about it not being his choice of locationbefore he slipped quickly into the room, gathered together what he needed, and then came back to collect several samples of Peter's blood.

Memories of doing the same to Sylar just a few meters away swam to the forefront of his mind, but he'd tried to focus on what he was doing and if Peter had picked up on anything he hadn't said. It wasn't exactly new information anyway.

It wasn't long before Mohinder found himself back in his old apartment. The Company must have sent someone to clean up the mess from the fight that had broken out just a few short days ago; there was hardly any sign of it anymore. The only indication that anything had happened was that it had all been tidied a bit too neatly. There was no sign of the usual mess and clutter that came of two men and a kid living in such a small space.

It was strange, crawling into bed knowing that Molly wasn't in the next room. He missed her already but he knew that Matt would be taking good care of her, wherever they were hiding. Mohinder had decided he'd rather not know the details, just in case. Better that he just comfort himself with knowledge that they were safe. That was enough for now.

Mohinder had told Peter that he would check into a hotel for the night, just in case Sylar came looking for him. He wasn't sure why he hadn't done just that. He knew in part it was that he just needed to be back home again. He needed familiar surroundings and familiar scents. It worked too, for the most part. Mohinder found himself drifting off to sleep with much more ease then he had expected.

Morning came all too quickly. The paralysis of sleep weighing heavily on him. If it weren't for the fact that he was so wrapped up in his blankets that he was practically suffocating, Mohinder might have simply rolled over and gone back to sleep. Instead he felt stifled, trapped, and though he hadn't held onto his dreams long enough to remember them, he was sure they hadn't been pleasant ones. It was an uncomfortable enough combination to prod his protesting limbs into motion, untangling himself from the sheets and stumbling half-blind into the shower.

The comforting flow of hot water helped immensely to refresh his senses and for a few moments he was feeling better. At least until his brain had the gall to remind him what a hellish day this was bound to be.

He had a vague idea of what he was going to tell Bob when the inevitable interrogation hit. Mohinder's association with Bennet had at least taught him how to come up with a plausible lie or cover story. Telling half-truths and lying only through omission were best. He just had to get his facts straight beforehand. Improvising had never been one of his talents.

Mohinder left the soothing warmth of the shower regretfully. He finished cleaning up, got dressed and headed out towards the kitchen for breakfast. His hand paused on the handle of the bedroom door, the memory of his last morning here breezing uninvited across his vision. No odd scents wafted past his nose, no strange noises filled his ears. When he finally shook the sudden trepidation off and entered the kitchen it was only to find it as empty as he had left it.

A small surge of disappointment mingled with relief shot through him. No Sylar, no Matt, no Molly. His small apartment suddenly felt much too big. Really, it had been too small for the strange little family he had ended up with; but now that they were gone it seemed enormous by comparison. Massive and empty, a hollow and abandoned husk.

Mohinder sighed as he plugged in the kettle and fished for a teacup, purposefully avoiding the green set. He couldn't think about that right now. For the moment he had to keep his head in the present. One foot in front of the other. Tea, food, work. Get the conversation with Bob out of the way, head back to the lab, and take a look at Peter's blood. Then, if he had time, he could panic. Until then he simply couldn't afford to.

-------------

His meeting with Bob went much better than expected. The man was clearly distracted with other things and didn't press for details. As such, Mohinder found it ridiculously easy lie through his teeth about his absence. He explained about phoning Matt up to tell him about Sylar. He claimed that Matt insisted on getting Molly as far away as possible. He said that he'd gone back with Peter to comfort his apparently-not-as-dead-as-they'd-thought friend. Bob had given him an odd, searching look at that point but Mohinder pretended not to see it. He was good at playing dumb.

Whether Bob was suspicious of Nathan's mysterious relocation or Mohinder's lack of comment on the potential use of Claire's blood in this case, he didn't know. The subject hadn't been broached. Mohinder got the feeling that Bob simply wanted to avoid the Nathan topic altogether. It wasn't a good sign of the Company's involvement, but as Mohinder was currently fervently avoiding the truth he wasn't going to try digging in that direction just yet.

He left Sylar out of the story completely. There was simply no way he was going there when he could easily claim he'd spent the last 36 hours trying to comfort an old friend instead.

They also avoided the subject of strain 138. Mohinder wasn't prepared to admit how much he knew about what Nathan, Peter and Matt had done or planned before Nathan was shot. It was highly dangerous territory. Bob didn't seem to want to offer up the information either; after all, it was a subject they'd already fought about. Either he didn't want to have to answer related questions, or he simply didn't want to give Mohinder the satisfaction of knowing that his friends had gotten the upper hand and done what Mohinder had once told Bob was absolutely necessary.

The conversation hadn't lasted more than five minutes before Bob dismissed him, and Mohinder muttered something about getting back to his research. The tension of things unsaid had been nearly unbearable and they were both relieved to be free of the other.

Mohinder was quite thankful that he managed to avoid running into anyone who wanted to talk to him as he beat a hasty retreat and he was back out of the building within a few short minutes. Breathing a long sigh of relief, he wound his way back to his lab, stopping back home briefly to pick up Peter's blood. He hadn't wanted to bring it with him earlier. Maybe it was paranoia, but he wanted to avoid questions and attention on the matter at all costs.

Mohinder set up quickly once he reached his lab. He'd figured out where all the cameras were a while back, and used that knowledge to try and make it look as if he was merely getting out a sample of Shanti Virus infected blood. It wasn't foolproof, but it was the best he could do.

With the deft ease of years of practice, Mohinder prepared a slide from Peter's blood and slid it under the microscope. It was obvious at first sight that something was wrong with Peter's blood. It was flooded with what looked like gray clouds. He could still see the normal cells, but the sample was riddled with large amounts of something so small he couldn't make out any real detail, even at maximum magnification. Still, one question was definitely answered. What Sylar had told them had to be true. Peter was, once again, a ticking time bomb.

-------------

The rest of the day passed in a slow haze. Tests took time to run and until he got some initial results Mohinder couldn't do much more than wait. He hadn't been in his lab since he'd brought Sylar there and now that he was no longer preoccupied the place felt haunted. It was odd, really. Issac Mendez had been brutally murdered on the floor behind him, as Sylar had felt obliged to remind him, but it was the memories of a man who still survived that clung to the very air.

Flashes of moments assaulted his system without warning. Here Sylar taunting him with Issac's memory. There, the gun going off and Maya crumpling to the floor. Molly's screams rending the air in twain. Terror for his adoptive daughter only eclipsed when Sylar had pointed the gun back at his own head, demanding the cure. The look on the killer's face when he realized that Mohinder had been holding out on him, playing for time. In that moment Mohinder had been sure Sylar was going to pull the trigger. Mohinder had been playing a dangerous game, praying that someone at the Company was watching those 'secret' security cameras. It had been his only hope of keeping Molly safe. He'd known going into it that eventually Sylar would catch on, eventually Mohinder would have to face that homicidal rage.

In fact it was more of a shock when Sylar just shook his head at Mohinder and said, '_you and I have trust issues Doctor._' How was it that just when Mohinder thought he could predict what Sylar was going to do, Sylar managed to turn things completely on their head? The next words, ordering him to try the cure on Maya first, explained it a bit. Sylar wasn't taking any chances; he wasn't going to risk getting poisoned again. If he hadn't been so terrified, Mohinder might actually have felt pleased with himself. It seemed as if Sylar considered him enough of a threat now that he wasn't going to trust a single thing Mohinder did. He wondered if it was memories of the curare fiasco that spurred that cautiousness on, or if it was just Sylar's vulnerability at no longer having his fearsome powers. He probably considered a gun to be an absolutely pathetic weapon.

Mohinder was fairly certain that he had spent more time in Sylar's presence than anyone still alive and yet Sylar remained so much of an enigma to him. From what Mohinder had managed to figure out, Sylar had been infected with the virus for a significant length of time and yet he hadn't displayed any of the physical symptoms. Aside from the loss of his powers, Sylar seemed completely unaffected. Was it simply this Company-favoured strain? Mohinder didn't know how long it took for that particular strain to cause death, but he'd been under the impression that it wasn't much longer than the other documented cases. Had he been misled? Was Sylar naturally resistant or was it something else about the man altogether?

On the other hand, it wasn't the least bit surprising that Sylar had managed to deceive Maya and her twin brother. Mohinder already knew far too well what a master of deception Sylar was. Perversely, it made him feel a little better about falling for the Zane ruse.

Mohinder found his mind wandering to who Sylar had been before he'd met Chandra Suresh, before he'd taken on that name. The day Sylar had come looking for the cure, after making sure Molly was going to be ok, Mohinder had managed to get his hands on Sylar's file. He knew Bob must have given him a heavily edited version, since the details concerning his imprisonment by the Company were practically non-existent. It had, however, contained what was _probably_ everything they knew about his life before he became a murderer.

The life of Gabriel Gray.

At first Mohinder had thought that it was some twisted joke on Sylar's part, picking the name Gabriel for his deception this time. Mohinder didn't know that much about Christianity, but he did know that Gabriel was an angel of some sort and Sylar was anything but angelic. So it made more sense to learn it was his real name, if still a little surreal. There was a small note beside the name warning agents against using his original name as it had a tendency to provoke violent outbursts. So why give that name to Maya? Was it psychological? Did he associate his powerless self with his past self? Or was it for some other reason entirely? Whatever the reason, Mohinder knew he'd never be able to associate the man with any name but Sylar. He stored away the information anyway though, anger was an emotional response and there might be a time when Mohinder would need to knock Sylar off balance. A dangerous thought, one that could potentially backfire, but he was certain Sylar would be back in his life soon enough and he needed every weapon he could get.

_I must be mad! I should be running for the hills._

Mohinder didn't know why he wasn't. He couldn't even explain it to himself. On the one hand he was fairly certain at this point that his life wasn't in _immediate_ danger. That didn't necessarily mean he'd survive their next encounter, but it did mean that he'd have time to figure out just what was going on. Forty-eight hours ago in that motel…

_"Don't worry Mohinder, I can fix you."_

That eerily tender touch. The way the violence of being flung into a wall had been contradicted moments later by soft caresses. Kisses that had the force of possessiveness while still being gentle. Was it all just some elaborate mind game? Was this some sort of twisted revenge, prolonged so that in the end Mohinder would only suffer more? It was the logical conclusion, and yet Mohinder found himself having a hard time believing that it was the right one.

_"Deny it all you please but you want this just as much as I do."_

Had he been telling the truth? Just how much of Zane had been real? How much had been pure deception and how much had been Sylar/Gabriel? Was there actually someone still in there that was capable of compassion or was it all just smokescreens and mirrors? Did it matter? Even if Sylar thought he was -unbelievable though the idea might be- attracted to or even in love with Mohinder, it still wasn't a good thing. Whatever Sylar thought it was, how could someone like him be capable of it? Was it some sick fixation?

Above all, why _him_? Why Mohinder? What had he done to provoke this response? How had he managed to pick up a homicidal stalker?

When Elle had returned from chasing Sylar away, Mohinder had assured her that she'd saved all their lives, but now that he thought back on it…

"_I'm sure Maya won't mind if I'm not here when she wakes up."_

Sylar had grabbed the cure and stood up. His words, now that Mohinder thought objectively about it, seemed to indicate that he'd actually intended on just leaving and letting them all live. A few days ago the very idea would have seemed impossible, but now… Had Sylar really intended on leaving them alive? Why would he do that? Was his obsession with Mohinder _really_ not about revenge for the curare incident, or the list?

If Sylar's intentions had included rape -Mohinder shuddered at the thought- why had he been so gentle? Why had he been so seemingly intent on convincing Mohinder to stop resisting? The memories of those caresses flooded his senses all at once and Mohinder's stomach churned. His despair and revulsion at his own reactions returned with a vengeance.

Was that why he wasn't panicking, why he wasn't running away? Did he _want_ Sylar to catch up to him? What was so damn alluring about that dangerous, fascinating, complicated, homicidal man? Why couldn't he stop remembering the thrill of those telekinetic touches, the way Sylar's fingers and lips had sent his heart racing and thrilled him in ways that made his kiss with Eden seem like a chaste gesture between family members?

The man was a cold-blooded serial killer who had even murdered Mohinder's father. Mohinder should be thinking of things like revenge and justice, but instead he was wondering about what other things Sylar could do with those fascinating powers of his. It was disgusting. He hated himself for entertaining those thoughts and yet they kept on coming.

What had happened? What had he become? Mohinder didn't even know who he was anymore and it was utterly terrifying. He couldn't concentrate on work. His head was a mess. Now that he'd let these thoughts back in they had consumed him. They stormed through him, ravaging the countryside as they went. He felt nauseous; he needed to go lie down. He could feel himself unraveling and couldn't bear having it all caught on camera.

Stumbling a bit over his own two feet, Mohinder grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and fled his lab. His stomach was in turmoil and his heart a tangled mess of thorns. They were just thoughts and yet they elicited such immense physical agony. He couldn't stand it any longer. He needed to escape from himself, from his own internal hell.

-------------

Sylar sat perched on the edge of a high-rise rooftop, his long legs dangling over the edge. His long black coat was folded neatly behind him, his black silk shirt undone and hanging half off, flapping lightly in the breeze. There was a pile of empty wrappers being slowly tugged away by the wind as Sylar pulled a sterile bandage tight with his teeth. Aiding healing by knitting together cuts with his telekinesis wasn't too hard but burns were completely different. The charred skin ached every time he moved his arm and there was nothing he could do but keep it moist and clean. A liberal application of antibiotic cream and sterile bandages were the best he could manage for now.

He slipped back into his shirt and jacket, gazing out at the city below. By now Mohinder must have determined whether or not that strange woman had really been telling the truth. It was the first time in his life that Sylar hoped he had been deceived. At least then he could kill Petrelli, something he very much wanted to do. It was just past mid-day though, and Sylar had learned the hard way that Mohinder's lab was under surveillance. There was really no other explanation behind that annoying blonde showing up when she did, or why Mohinder had insisted on dragging them all there in the first place.

It was infuriating, knowing that the doctor had been playing for time, withholding the cure in the hopes that his _friends_ at the Company would figure out what was going on. The betrayal stung, though it hadn't really been all that surprising. If he'd expected Mohinder to co-operate he wouldn't have needed the gun. After all, the last time they'd seen one another before that they'd tried to kill each other. True, Sylar probably wouldn't have gone through with it, but Mohinder didn't know that and Mohinder had certainly gone through with _his_ attempt. Probably wished he hadn't delayed too, wished he'd gone through with it before Sylar had regained access to his powers.

Mohinder was an itch that needed to be scratched. Just like that proverbial itch, scratching it only ever made things worse. It only harmed Sylar more in the long run, and yet the temptation was irresistible. He'd spent all that time pretending to be Zane when he really should have just killed Mohinder and taken the list. Not to mention calling Mohinder for advice when he'd thought he was going to blow up New York. It had made sense at the time. Mohinder had been his only real friend, even if the friendship had been shrouded in lies. He should have known better really, after the betrayal. He should have known that Mohinder wouldn't help him. It had been a disgusting moment of weakness, a mistake.

Four months later and he'd wound up with the blunder twins. He discovered they had Chandra's book and that they wanted to go to New York to meet him. It was fate, destiny bringing them back together again. Mohinder would know what to do. Mohinder would know how to restore his powers.

Life _did_ have its poetry.

It had been so much _fun_ playing with Mohinder again. It was quickly becoming his favourite game: throwing Mohinder off balance, seeing fear and confusion in those wide eyes. Sylar couldn't explain why he had such a fascination with Mohinder. If he knew why, then maybe he could figure out how to rid himself of it. He certainly had better things to do. He had revenge to take, against two separate groups of people no less. He also had powers to collect, though at least he'd be able to do that while taking his vengeance. He should really forget all about Mohinder, get on with things, but he couldn't.

The only saving grace was that Mohinder was connected with both groups. It seemed even more like destiny when he thought about it that way. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he could use the scientist to further his other, more practical goals. It made the obsession feel a little less pathetic at least.

He smiled lazily to himself as he thought about his plans for that afternoon. Weakness or not, seeing Mohinder again was going to be _quite_ the enjoyable experience.

-------------

Mohinder reached blindly for his keys, fingers fumbling about clumsily in his jacket pocket. His shallow breathing was coming faster than normal, the vaguest hints of tears beading in the corners of his eyes. His fingertips were tingling, as if they were going slowly numb. Fortunately he knew he just had to sit down with a cup of tea, do some deep breathing and he should be able to fight off what he now realized was a minor panic attack. It was no surprise, really, after everything he'd been through in the last week.

It took nearly two whole minutes to get the key into the lock and enter the sanctuary of his home. Unlike this morning, he was grateful to find the apartment blessedly empty. Mohinder tossed his bag absently onto his desk and plugged in the kettle.

The whole way home he had been playing past events over and over in his head. There was one in particular that he kept coming back to, something he absolutely couldn't explain without feeling disgusted with himself. A moment of weakness that he could attempt to rationalize, but all his excuses sounded hollow.

_On one side was Peter Petrelli, lying facedown on the floor, a large shard of glass imbedded in the back of his head, dead. On his other side was Sylar, unconscious, vulnerable, defenseless. Knocked out by Mohinder's own doing. Mohinder was aching from having been slammed from wall to wall and falling from the ceiling. He was shaking with shock, Peter was dead and it was all his fault. He couldn't leave Peter there. Sylar could wake up at any moment and he'd be after Peter's brain. Mohinder couldn't allow such a horrible desecration. He had to get Peter out of there right away. _

_First though, he had to destroy the list. Keeping that from Sylar was more important than either of their lives. He made short work of the laptop, destroying it beyond repair. No time to mourn the loss of all of his and his father's work. What had it caused but death anyway?_

_He was making his way back to Peter when he found himself no longer able to ignore the serial killer sprawled unconscious on the floor. Sylar looked oddly peaceful. He looked more like bright, friendly Zane than the psychotic murderer Sylar. How could such a serene, peaceful face have gazed down on his victims as he sliced open their skulls?_

_Mohinder had to remind himself of the urgency of the situation, shake himself out of his reverie. He'd lifted Peter onto his shoulders and made good his escape._

At the time he hadn't questioned it, but looking back now he realized what an idiot he'd been. He could have finished Sylar off right then and there, once and for all. There were deadly glass shards all over the apartment; it would have been fitting to end his life with the same weapon that ended Peter's. Why hadn't he been thinking of revenge then?

The gun had still been in the apartment. Sylar had tossed it off to the side, but Mohinder had known pretty much where it was. If he'd been squeamish he should have gotten the gun and done what he'd failed to do earlier, put a bullet in the bastard's brain.

But the thought hadn't occurred to him.

Was it panic? Not likely. He certainly wasn't more panicked than when he'd first realized Zane was Sylar and he'd managed to keep that realization from the other man. Had kept his head, mostly.

Was it a reluctance to become a murderer? To kill someone absolutely defenseless? Pulling that trigger had been so hard the first time, despite all his justification, but he'd done it. He'd thought that Sylar was absolutely helpless then and he's still gone through with it. So why hadn't he thought to do it this time? He hadn't hesitated to shoot Noah Bennet when that had become necessary.

The list of excuses went on, each more pathetic than the last. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't come up with an answer. Not one that he could live with. He made his tea and drank it thoughtlessly, without tasting. He needed so badly to come up with a _reasonable_ answer.

Mohinder was so deep in thought that he didn't hear the locks on his front door click open. He was so desperate for an answer that he didn't hear the footsteps approaching from behind. It wasn't until large hands came to rest on his shoulders that he snapped out of his contemplation, his entire body tensing. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Warm breath tickled the back of his ear.

"Miss me?"


	8. Breakdown

"Miss me?" Sylar crooned into Mohinder's ear.

"No," Mohinder bit out harshly, his grip tightening around his half-finished cup of tea. He studiously repressed the urge to flee. There was no point, he was trapped anyway. He was sitting in a chair at the dining table with Sylar's strong holdon his shoulders keeping him firmly in place. All that not even considering Sylar's powers.

"_Really_?" Sylar positively purred, amusement rampant in his voice. "I think you're lying. Want to know why?"

"Enlighten me," Mohinder returned dryly, despite his anxiety. Sylar chuckled, switching to the other ear.

"Because you're not an idiot, Mohinder." He taunted, clearly enjoying every word. "The cop and the rugrat are, quite wisely, not living here anymore; but _you_, you came right back home. It couldn't have been easier for me to find you."

Mohinder gritted his teeth, remembering his conversation with Peter from the night before.

"Maybe I knew you'd just follow me home from my lab if you wanted to." He shot back with more conviction than he actually felt. How dare Sylar have already made up his mind about Mohinder's intentions when Mohinder himself didn't know what they were?

"Now, now Mohinder. We both know how pathetic that excuse is." Sylar tutted, straightening with just a touch of a sigh and relaxing his hold on Mohinder's shoulders. "Your _friends_ have more than enough resources to relocate your lab." His irritation and the thinly veiled threat were all to clear.

Maybe it was the familiar harsh tone, or simply the fact that he no longer felt quite so trapped, but either way Mohinder suddenly found himself slipping out of Sylar's loosened grasp and shooting to his feet, teacup in hand. Not thinking, he hurled it at Sylar's head, days worth of frustration and anguish fueling his aggression.

The cup halted in mid air, the tea freezing in an instant to hover half-spilled out of the cup. Sylar looked vaguely disappointed as his eyes flicked from the hovering projectile to Mohinder and back again. He reached out, plucking the cup from the air with nimble fingers. A small grin tugged at his lips.

"Feeling nostalgic?" Sylar asked with genuine curiosity. At first Mohinder just frowned in confusion. Then he realized which set of teacups he had gone for in his half-blind stupor when he arrived home: the green ones, of course.

Sylar studiously restrained his frustration. He'd hoped Mohinder wouldn't resort to violence, but given their history it was inevitable. What Sylar had not expected was what Mohinder did next.

Mohinder's watched the cup as Sylar released it and absently sent it floating off to land gently in the sink. When it finally dipped out of sight he slid his gaze back to Sylar, a tired and defeated look in his eyes. He covered his face with his hands, leaning up against the wall in a way that suggested his legs no longer had the strength to support the rest of his body. He let out a deep, shuddering sigh and slid down the wall. Half falling, half sitting, Mohinder landed on the kitchen floor, suddenly a disheveled mess.

Sylar didn't move, stunned by this sudden break down. If it weren't for his enhanced hearing he might not have noticed, but Mohinder was letting out small half-strangled sobs that made Sylar's stomach clench uncomfortably. This wasn't how things were supposed to go! Mohinder was supposed to fight back and run through the usual litany of accusations. He was supposed to be afraid but defiant. The crumpled wreck currently curled on the kitchen floor was not Sylar's Mohinder.

Sylar had come into this with a plan. He'd been looking forward to another entertaining session of verbal sparring (which he would win, he always did) and what had passed so far hardly counted. It should have then been followed by a more physical confrontation. Mohinder didn't stand a chance in a fight, but it would have been half seduction anyway. Sylar would have tormented the other man relentlessly until Mohinder finally came to his senses and acknowledged those repressed feelings. After that, well after that should have just been fun.

This was not going according to plan. This situation was beyond Sylar's wealth of experience. Was it an act? A way to get Sylar to drop his guard so that Mohinder could get the upper hand? He almost wished it was. Unfortunately what he could hear and what he could see told him otherwise. Mohinder looked defeated, beaten, shattered into a thousand pieces.

For a moment Sylar felt a wave of panic. Had he done this? Was this all his fault? He couldn't see how it was. Sure, Mohinder had a lot of reasons to be angry at him, but _this_? No, surely this was someone else's doing.

_I'm going to find out who broke you, Mohinder. I'm going hunt them down and rip them into tiny pieces, __**slowly.**_

Despite his promise only a few days ago that he would fix Mohinder, Sylar had to admit (to himself and **only** to himself) that he was out of his depth here. Timepieces were one thing; physical wounds weren't too hard either, but emotional ones? What did _Sylar_ know about mending those? Furrowing his brow, Sylar crouched down, bringing himself closer to eye-level with the disheveled geneticist.

"Mohinder?" He kept his voice even, calm. Part of him wanted to grab Suresh by the shoulders and shake some life into him; but whenever that impulse surfaced a conflicting one shouted in his ear, telling him it was absolutely the wrong move.

Mohinder seemed not to notice.

"Talk to me Mohinder." It wasn't an entreaty, it was an order. His hands were itching to disobey that gut instinct and knock some senseinto this wreck of a man. Fortunately, this time Mohinder reacted. Whether it was to the edge in his voice or something else, Sylar couldn't be sure.

Mohinder let his hands fall from his face. The few stray tears that had managed to escape he wiped off with his sleeve.

"Go away Sylar." He pleaded softly, though his eyes were starting to harden warningly. "Just leave me alone."

Sylar snorted derisively, rolling his eyes at the demand.

"Ya, right." He returned sarcastically, "Like that's going to happen."

A snarl of fury ripped itself past Mohinder's lips and without further warning he smashed a fist into Sylar's jaw. The killer bit back a grunt of pain and shock; he really should have seen that one coming. The blow was a clumsy one. Mohinder clearly wasn't used to physical confrontation and he wasn't exactly in the best position to be throwing blows either. Still, it stung.

Sylar reacted without much thought, shoving Mohinder back against the wall and dragging him upwards as Sylar climbed angrily back onto his feet. There was at least a small consolation to all this. Mohinder clearly hadn't lost that enticing fire, it was just hiding. However that didn't mean that Sylar was feeling at all inclined to be happy, quite the opposite in fact.

He fisted a hand into Mohinder's shirt, pressing him against the wall now solely with physical force, only using his telekinesis to keep his wrists pinned in place. When he was confident that the other man was securely immobilized Sylar let his right hand drift to his lips, his fingertips coming away with a few small smears of blood.

"I should kill you for that." Sylar hissed threateningly, twisting his grip so that the collar of Mohinder's shirt wrapped dangerously around that dark, enticing neck. It didn't matter that he wouldn't go through with the threat. Mohinder had to learn not to be such an ungrateful ass, but Sylar had more enjoyable punishments in mind than a worthless murder.

"Do it then," Mohinder returned bitterly, his dark brown eyes swimming with anger and pain. "Kill me! Finish what you started four months ago. You might as well; you've already taken everything else from me!"

_My conscience, my morals, my hope, my family, my self respect. My life is nothing after all that._ Mohinder thought bitterly. _You couldn't even let me keep my heart you bastard. Kill me already. Just kill me so that I don't have to live with the fact that I fell in love with a monster any longer. I can't do this, I can't stand it! __** I hate myself!**_

"If this is about your father again-" Sylar started threateningly, thoroughly sick of the subject, but Mohinder interrupted with a wild, unsettling laugh.

"I _wish_!" He shot back between uncontrollable bursts of self-deprecating laughter. "You don't have a clue! You couldn't possibly understand what you did to me, you're a **monster**. All you do is take what you want and leave, no thought to the consequences or the wreckage that you leave behind!

"Before I met you I knew who I was. Maybe I was a little fucked up but nothing, _nothing_ compared to now." The laughter died away. Mohinder was channeling all his energy into his words. He'd held onto his secrets for far too long now. He was tired, oh so very tired. Now that he'd started venting that steam, releasing that anger and despair, there was no stopping it. "You turned me into a murderer! Are you happy now? Are you pleased to know that I sank to your level? You think it was easy for me to pull that trigger? I delayed and I stalled and I was happy to let my research distract me. I pulled that trigger thinking I was doing it for my father, for all the people you murdered, for all the ones you were going to kill if I didn't. You know what though? I regretted it the instant that shot went off. The part of me that wasn't absolutely terrified was _glad_ you stopped that bullet.

"It didn't matter though. I pulled that trigger thinking you were going to die, and the next time, oh the next time was so ridiculously easy. It doesn't matter that Claire's blood brought him back from the dead. It doesn't matter that he was going to murder Bob in cold blood. I _shot_ him! I shot my _friend_ and I didn't hesitate, I didn't flinch. I killed him right in front of his daughter, his _daughter_!" On that last word he broke down again, tears flowing freely from his cheeks, sobs ripping themselves from his throat.

"I can't get her screams out of my head." He confessed softly, pathetically; practically limp now in Sylar's grasp.

_I can't get _you_ out of my head._

He wouldn't voice that last thought though. Not now, not ever. It was just so wrong.

Sylar found himself unable to do anything but stare. He released his grip on Mohinder's shirt, confused and angry. He wanted to step back, gather his wits, but Mohinder's legs had turned to jelly ages ago and when Sylar stopped supporting his weight Mohinder collapsed. Sylar caught him purely by reflex, still trying to wrap his mind around this turn of events. Mohinder's face was suddenly pressed up against Sylar's chest, breathing in the taller man's scent, trembling in his arms.

_Strong, warm, comfortable arms. Smells good._

Somehow he'd always thought Sylar would smell like death: blood and decay and all manner of horrible things. Someone so evil should not smell like _this_. The scent brought back memories of Zane, of long car rides, the joy of budding friendship and the feeling of no longer being alone.

Sylar found himself holding Mohinder in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body once more, a stray black curl tickling his nose. Mohinder's forehead rest in the crook of his good shoulder, exposing the long line of his neck, delectable chocolate skin. His lips were pressed against it before his brain could process his options, the best course of action. He didn't give a shit anymore. Mohinder was _right there_ in his arms. Sylar didn't know what he was supposed to do with Mohinder after all that, couldn't think of what to say. Scorn or comfort, rage or feel guilt, they were all wrong and all right. His head was a mess, but right now he knew the one thing he wanted for himself and that was all that mattered in the end anyway.

Mohinder stiffened in his arms as Sylar left a trail of kisses from where collar bone met shoulder and up the line of his neck. Sylar shifted his right arm to wrap it around Mohinder's waist, supporting his weight and sneaking his hand up under the smaller man's shirt to caress the warm skin beneath. A shiver shook its way through Mohinder's frame as Sylar reached the base of his jaw, nipping lightly with his teeth before turning his attention to sensitive earlobes, reveling in the exotic taste. Dark curls brushed against his cheek as he breathed in the tantalizing scent of Mohinder's shampoo, something vaguely fruity and deliciously pleasant.

"S-Sylar?" It was part question, part plea and contained just enough of a moan to drive Sylar absolutely mad. He growled softly. The combination of sound vibrations and Sylar's teeth and lips tugging at Mohinder's ear elicited another soft moan. Sylar pressed Mohinder back up against the wall, arm still wrapped around his waist, left hand finding the buttons of Mohinder's shirt, teasing them open. As if this gesture crossed some invisible line, Mohinder let out a whimper and grabbed Sylar's wrist.

"Wait, don't-" he protested with sudden panic. Sylar refused to listen. He simply reversed the grip, dragging Mohinder's arm above his head. He used just a touch of telekinesis to pin Mohinder's wrist in place and the went back to work on the buttons. Mohinder opened his mouth to protest further but Sylar cut him off, silencing those protesting lips with his own, stealing the very breath from his lungs.

Mohinder stubbornly insisted on making small sounds of protest and Sylar lost what little patience he had left, biting down on Mohinder's bottom lip just enough to draw blood. The whimper of pain shot straight to his groin, a rush of blood fleeing his brain.

"Shut. Up." He ordered dangerously before losing himself in the taste of Mohinder's blood mingling with his own. Sylar threw himself into crushing, sucking, nibbling and otherwise conquering Mohinder's lips, his kisses becoming more aggressive by the second. The last of the buttons on Mohinder's shirt was undone and Sylar's hands were all over the exposed skin, running fingers down his chest and up his spine, tracing lazy circles. He eagerly switched his hold on Mohinder from physical to mental so that he could let his hands explore every inch. He wanted to memorize the curve and dip of every muscle.

Mohinder's free hand was suddenly clinging to the back of Sylar's jacket. His grip so strong that it seemed as if he was holding on for dear life. Sylar's tongue invaded Mohinder's mouth, thrilled to find Mohinder no longer resisting even if he was not returning the attention quite yet. Sylar shifted his hips, sliding a leg between Mohinder's, pressing his thigh up against the bulge in Mohinder's pants, thumbing a nipple as he did so.

Mohinder lost the scant threads of control he had managed to hold on to. He moaned weakly and felt himself returning frantic kisses, dueling with Sylar's tongue. Mohinder reached his free hand up Sylar's neck, burying fingers in the soft hair at the back of his head. He struggled to pull his other hand free, need overtaking him, pent up desires roaring to life. There was no room left in his head for right and wrong or good and evil. All that was left was the touch of flesh, flashes of intense heat and an all consuming want. Desire seized his entire being and rational thought fled entirely.

Sylar froze for the briefest of instants when Mohinder suddenly started returning the kisses and he felt Mohinder's hand twining into his hair. Then, like it was the signal he had been waiting for, he tugged Mohinder away from the wall, all but ripping the shirt off of his body before pressing him back up against the hard surface.

Mohinder's hands were pulling at Sylar's long jacket, yanking it down off his arms, grumbling when Sylar refused to stopping running his hands along Mohinder's skin long enough to remove the offending garment. Mohinder could barely breathe, his lips were swollen from Sylar's not-so-gentle attention and the cut in his lower lip stung fiercely but he sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to stop now. Instead he returned the favour, nipping at Sylar's lower lip, tugging insistently. It startled Sylar long enough for Mohinder to rip the jacket free at last and move on to the buttons of his silky black shirt.

Sylar's thoughts were a muddled, pleasant mess. He hadn't even noticed Mohinder tugging at his clothing until the good doctor had bitten his lip. Now that he was back in the present he was more than eager to help, using his telekinesis to speed the process along. He ground his hips forward, eliciting another delicious whimper of pleasure and need. He wrapped a hand in Mohinder's curls, delighting in their softness, and pulled his head roughly to the side, running kisses and bites back down the previously untouched plane of Mohinder's neck. He grinned as Mohinder gasped and mumbled something absolutely incoherent while Sylar laid claim to his throat.

Buttons finally undone, Sylar flung off his shirt and felt a tremor run down his spine as Mohinder's hands were suddenly everywhere; grasping, caressing and exploring pale skin. Sylar worked his way along Mohinder's collar bone as his hands fumbled with Mohinder's belt, ripping it clear. His lips reached the center of Mohinder's throat, found his adam's apple and a wicked grin spread across his face.

Sylar pinned the other man to the wall with his mind, ignoring Mohinder's sudden protests, pulling him up so that Sylar no longer had to lean over to get at the tender flesh of his neck.

"Shhhh…" He breathed, concentrating for a moment. Sylar let his lips hover just a few short centimeters from the crook of his neck before blowing gently, freezing his breath and coating a patch of Mohinder's flesh with a fine layer of frost. Mohinder yelped at the sudden intense chill, fingernails biting into the skin of Sylar's shoulders.

"What the- oooohhhh," Mohinder's confused complaints transformed into a breathy sound of enjoyment as Sylar ran a hot tongue over the cold patch, the drastic change in temperature sending shocks of pleasure to his extremities.

Sylar pulled back, eyes tracing appreciatively up Mohinder's body until they met the other pair. He grinned smugly.

"Still want me to stop?" Sylar taunted with a raised eyebrow. Mohinder was panting now. He shook his head emphatically.

"God, _no_." He managed, squirming in Sylar's telekinetic grip. Mohinder was desperate to place his own kisses; to do something, anything more than just cling to Sylar's shoulders but he was held firmly in place.

Sylar chuckled victoriously before grabbing hold of Mohinder's wrists, pulling them from his shoulders and forcing them to the wall above his head. Sylar gathered them up in one hand, holding them firmly in place. He thought he heard the beginnings of another protest but Mohinder seemed to think better of it, swallowing his words, and all Sylar could hear was ragged breathing and the sweet symphony of their racing hearts.

Sylar blew another jet of cold air up Mohinder's collar bone towards his left shoulder, retracing it seconds later with his tongue. He moved down a bit, chilled another small patch of skin and repeated the process, inching slowly downwards. Mohinder writhed and panted, letting out the most adorable little squeaks and groans. It all went straight to Sylar's cock, straining painfully against his tight jeans. He fumbled at the clasp with his free hand, desperate to rid himself of the restraint.

Sylar continued his agonizingly slow journey downwards, finally reaching a round nipple. He taunted Mohinder with butterfly kisses around the edge, feeling him tense under the attention. Sylar paused meaningfully, heightening the anticipation, before finally breathing that chill over the tender area, delighting in how the skin puckered in response, drinking in Mohinder's hiss before he finally plunged his lips overtop. Licking, sucking and nibbling, he focused Mohinder's attention all onto that one spot as he carefully and quietly freed the other man from his pants. He kicked both pairs off to the side, still licking and sucking and occasionally blowing bits of cold air back over the too-sensitive flesh.

Mohinder's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. The sensation was amazing, the play of hot and cold lighting his skin on fire. Not being able to move in response was torturous and only served to heightenthe sensation. With every kiss, lick and bite his body practically screamed at him to _do_ something, but all he could manage was a series of gasps and moans. Until suddenly Sylar bit down particularly hard and a hand cupped Mohinder's groin through the thin fabric of his boxers. He bucked madly against the invisible restraints, light headed and absolutely desperate for release.

"God..." He breathed, his mind in a complete daze.

Sylar let go of his wrists, hands going instead to Mohinder's hips. Fabric rustled and was flung aside and then Sylar was grinding his hips against Mohinder. Their mutual hardlengths rubbing against each other, the friction driving both of them wild.

Sylar raised his lips to Mohinder's ear, his breathing ragged as he kept his hips moving with agonizing slowness. His fingers gripped tightly onto Mohinder, locking him in place, forcing him to hang there and take the unbearably slow movements.

"Tell me what you want Mohinder." He demanded huskily. "What is it you _need?_"

A strangled, absolutely wanton moan escaped Mohinder's throat. His body was still pinned, but he blearily realized that his hands were free. He reached down, intent on guiding Sylar where he wanted him, only to be roughly smacked away, the freedom of his arms casually stripped away once more.

"No Mohinder." Sylar growled, dragging the name out sensually. "Say it out loud." There was no small amount of threat laced in those words. Sylar ceased all movement, leaving his hot breath against Mohinder's ear as the only remaining sensation.

Mohinder's skin crawled with need, with desire. The words trembled in his chest, aching to break free, but somehow saying it out loud felt more difficult than engaging in the act itself. Verbalizing this need, practically begging for it, was something he couldn't do. It meant admitting that he was willing. It meant that he couldn't accuse Sylar of forcing the issue later on. It meant confessing out loud something he could hardly even admit to himself. He whimpered pathetically, entreatingly; unable to form any words at all and just pleading with his very core that Sylar would stop this torture and take what he wanted from him. Since when did Sylar ask for permission to do anything anyway? Even as he asked himself that, Mohinder knew the answer. Sylar knew him far too well, knew the denial that filled him even now.

Sylar bucked forward once more, ripping another gasp from Mohinder's throat. He dug his long fingers into Mohinder's hips hard enough to bruise.

"Maybe I should just leave you here to think about it." He hissed out dangerously.

Mohinder had a hard time believing Sylar would stop _now_, but he was so damn desperate and Sylar was unpredictable enough that he actually might do it just to prove a point. Mohinder's resolve crumbled. His need was just too strong, it burned in his veins and even the slightest chance that he might be left without was absolutely unbearable.

"F-fuck me," he stuttered softly, barely above a whisper. Mohinder was instantly rewarded by the sudden presence of hundreds of telekinetic fingers running up and down his body, drowning him in sensory overload. Sylar, however, wasn't quite satisfied.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" He asked in mock bewilderment, "I couldn't quite hear you."

Mohinder groaned in frustration, knowing that Sylar was just toying with him. Fortunately the second time was much easier, especially with his inhibitions being stripped away more with every instant by the overwhelming telekinetic caresses.

"Fuck me, Sylar." He begged, hating himself for the desperation in his voice but wanting it oh-so very badly. "_Please_!"

A shiver ran down Sylar's spine at the wanton entreaty, delighting in the way Mohinder said his name, thrilled to hear him literally begging for it. Oh, he was more than pleased to give him just that.

Mohinder's breath was driven from his chest as invisible fingers invaded him, stretching and teasing him as Sylar ran another string of nips and kisses down his chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around the previously ignored nipple.

Mohinder nearly lost himself in the flood of sensation. It was only the sudden realization that this was going to be incredibly painful if he didn't speak up that brought him back long enough to force out a few choice words.

"Bed- bedside -table." He managed between pants, unable to articulate more than that.

Sylar paused, pulling away from the now thoroughly abused nipple to look up at Mohinder with a slightly confused and mildly annoyed expression. A curse escaped Mohinder's lips as he realized he had to sum up enough coherent thought to get out another word.

"Lube," he mumbled, hoping he hadn't mangled the word too badly.

Sylar's confused expression transformed immediately into one of amusement. He leaned upwards, savagely stealing Mohinder's lips once more.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." He teased as he pulled back, seizing Mohinder by his biceps and tugging him off the wall. Mohinder expected to find his feet once more brushing the cold floor, facing the struggle of standing on his own power once more. Instead he continued to hover as Sylar wrapped one arm around his back, draping the other down across his hip, groping Mohinder's ass and flashing a positively wicked grin.

Mohinder found himself responding instinctively, wrapping his legs around Sylar's waist and looping his hands around that pale neck. Feeling in control for the first time, Mohinder plundered Sylar's lips as the taller man backed towards the bedroom. The invisible penetration and stretching hadn't stopped but it wasn't enough. Mohinder rocked his hips, his hard length rubbing between their stomachs, and groaned into Sylar's mouth at the delicious friction.

Sylar laughed, whirling around suddenly to slam Mohinder down onto the bed, Sylar's larger frame easily holding him in place. Their noses were almost touching, each panting heavily, Mohinder's legs still wrapped tightly around Sylar's waist.

"If you wanted this so badly you should have asked _ages_ ago." Sylar taunted, his ravenous gaze meeting Mohinder's own needy eyes.

"Bastard." Mohinder growled, reaching down to palmSylar's erection, eliciting a groan from the other man.

"Hussy." Sylar countered absently, quite clearly done with conversation. A hiss escaped Mohinder's lips as cold, slick lube was suddenly slathered around his entrance and the ghostly fingers ceased their ministrations. Mohinder didn't question when Sylar managed to get his hands on it, telekinesis was quickly becoming Mohinder's favourite ability.

There was a long pause as the men simply pressed up against one another, both panting with desire, throbbing with the need for release. Sylar shifted position and suddenly there was the feel of _Sylar_ pressed up against Mohinder's entrance. He paused there, drawing the moment out, the anticipation seeming to stretch on forever.

Then he plunged in, filling Mohinder up, ripping past his resistance. A scream tore from Mohinder's throat as Sylar buried himself inside and then stopped. A hand tenderly caressed his face, wiping away the few stray tears that had escaped. Soft, soothing words rolled off Sylar's tongue as he planted gentle kisses across Mohinder's chest, letting him get a hold of himself and adjust to the sudden intrusion.

Mohinder didn't have the capacity to be surprised at the concern in Sylar's voice when he eventually asked if Mohinder was ok. All he could do was nod slightly, sliding his hands under Sylar's arms, clinging to his shoulders from behind and pulling him closer.

Keeping his movements excruciatingly slow, Sylar pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in with equal caution. He was having just as much trouble maintaining coherent thought as Mohinder. Mohinder was so hot, so tight that he could feel himself starting to lose it; and from the sounds he was making, Mohinder was already nearing the edge.

The burning sensation was fading quickly into pleasure. Mohinder clung desperately to the other man, rocking slightly, wordlessly encouraging Sylar to speed up. The rhythm picked up, push and pull, give and take, mind-numbing pleasure flooding them both until Sylar was bucking feverishly, pounding Mohinder into the mattress. Mohinder rocked in sync frantically, shifting and twisting and trying to find the right angle to allow Sylar to plunge even deeper inside of him.

There were only the sounds of pants and moans and the slap of flesh colliding, getting faster and faster, more and more ragged, more incoherent, moans getting louder and louder. Until with one last thrust Sylar hit that sweet spot and Mohinder's world exploded and imploded all at once. Sylar's name split the air as Mohinder came, his muscles tensing all at once before spasming wildly.

The sudden increased pressure from Mohinder's orgasm combined with the sound of his name being screamed so joyously was more than enough to send Sylar hurtling towards his own release. Mohinder's name fled his lips in a breathless rush as white-hot stars invaded his vision and pleasure flooded him from head to toe.

The sensation of Sylar coming inside of him sent another shock of electricity coursing through Mohinder's exhausted frame, which in turn triggered another aftershock in Sylar as Mohinder twitched and writhed beneath him. Until Sylar's strength fled him entirely, limbs turning to jelly and they collapsed into a chaotic jumble of arms and legs. Spent and unable to think, let alone move.


	9. Infiltration

The shrill beeping of the alarm clock at midnight jolted Sylar from his contented slumber. He flicked the alarm off with his mind before rousing to full consciousness. He had set the volume to the lowest possible setting before he'd passed out so that only his enhanced hearing would pick up on it. To him though, it might as well have been on full blast.

Sylar pried his eyes open, drinking in the view before him and taking a few minutes to commit the sight to memory. Mohinder was sprawled peacefully on his back, deeply asleep. His face was so serene at rest. The only word Sylar could think of to describe it was angelic.

Sylar had an arm wrapped around Mohinder's torso, silently declaring his claim on the other man. They'd both fallen asleep immediately and Sylar was immensely grateful for Mohinder's continued unconsciousness. Not only because of his plans, which would go most smoothly with Mohinder blissfully unaware, but also because of his thoughts.

He'd had a lot of time to think during his wait the previous day. Sylar had anticipated that the conversation he would have to have with Mohinder this morning would be difficult to say the least. Now that the moment was approaching, however, he realized he had grossly underestimated that difficulty. First there was Mohinder's strange breakdown, confession and accusations. Then there was what was currently swirling through Sylar's mind.

He'd expected to find his lust sated. He'd hoped to have essentially fucked Mohinder out of his system, at least for a while. Lying there though, chin hooked over Mohinder's shoulder, nose nestled in those soft curls, breathing in his exotic scent, Sylar realized that he didn't want this moment to end.

It was absolutely terrifying.

He wanted to pull Mohinder close and wrap his arms protectively around that lovingly sculpted torso. He wanted to keep Mohinder for himself, keep him close andkeep him safe.

It was a disaster.

Sylar didn't care about anyone. Sylar lived a life on the run, caring about nothing and no one but himself. Mohinder wasn't a part of the equation. Mohinder _couldn't_ be a part of the equation. He wouldn't be.

It didn't matter what he was feeling at right now, Sylar told himself. He wasn't some pathetic weakling. He wasn't controlled by his emotions. Until this moment he'd been sure he didn't have them any longer.

Most of all, he had to do everything in his power to keep Mohinder from realizing this change. Sylar tried to tell himself that even if Mohinder found out it wouldn't matter. Yet he couldn't take that chance. He couldn't risk the infinitesimally minute possibility that Mohinder could gain even the smallest bit of powerover him.

Sylar had to do what he'd planned. He would get what he came for and move on.

For a while, at least.

After some careful study, Sylar determined that Mohinder was deeply enough asleep that it would take a fairly significant earthquake to wake him. Exactly what he'd hoped for. As such, Sylar felt safe in diving into Mohinder's shower for a quick wash. When he'd finished, Sylar was pleased to note that Mohinder was still absolutely dead to the world, breathing deeply and peacefully. It meant that he wouldn't have to take steps to ensure the doctor didn't interfere with his plans.

Sylar stifled a yawn and gathered up his clothing. He got dressed quickly, keeping his ears trained on Mohinder's room for even the slightest sound. Before he had followed Mohinder and Peter down to Texas, Sylar had been watching Mohinder carefully. He now knew where the Company's New York headquarters was. He knew that Mohinder had a key card and Sylar had memorized the code he'd used to enter the building. Getting inside was going to be absurdly easy.

It only took a little digging through Mohinder's belongings to find his swipe-card. Sylar pocketed it swiftly, reassured himself one last time that Mohinder wasn't going to bewaking up any time soon and slipped out the door.

-------------

The power of illusion was a heady tonic. Michelle, Candice, whoever she'd been, had shown Sylar two of its uses. Sweeping landscapes were fun but not really practical. Changing one's appearancewas highly useful, but so far Sylar hadn't had much need of that either. Instead Sylar enjoyed the more subtle variations.

The first he had initially attempted in Mohinder's apartment a few days ago. His eidetic memory made it laughably easy to memorize the precise layout of a room. Once he had that firmly in mind he could layer a false reality on top of the real one, duplicating it exactly. The first time he'd done that it had been on a small, simple scale. He'd been lying in Mohinder's bed and simply placed the illusion of an empty bed on top of the occupied one. Mohinder's eyes had passed right over him, never knowing he was there. It was intoxicating. That first attempt had been an easy one and Sylar knew he was capable of so much more.

The second variation he'd tried had, so far, proven the more useful of the two. Although at first the two might seem the same, they were actually quite intrinsically different. Sylar could easily change his own appearance in whatever way suited him. The original owner of these powers had used that aspect constantly. That much was made obvious when Sylar had killed her; revealing a large, unkempt woman behind the illusion of a Barbie doll. It wasn't the potential to appear as someone else that captured Sylar's imagination, however. The fact that Candice had been able to disguise her true size had shown Sylar the potential for much more.

This power of illusion bent light, showing the world what the bearer wanted to be seen. Conversely, it could hide what the bearer wanted hidden. Sylar found that he could bend light around himself in such a way as to disappear completely from sight. It was like having gained two powers for the price of one, illusions and invisibility.

He'd tested it out when he'd tailed Mohinder after sparing the electric girl's life. Even going so far as being able to tag along on Peter's teleportation. Intoxicating didn't even begin to describe how thrilling this ability was.

Tonight was going to be the ultimate test of its limits.

Sylar cloaked himself in his newfound invisibility as he rounded the corner and took in a seemingly run-down factory. It was, it turned out, nothing of the sort. He hadn't yet been inside, but he'd trailed the others back here and there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. This was the Company's New York headquarters.

Grinning to himself, Sylar walked up to the dingy looking side entrance and paused as he fished out Mohinder's keycard. He had to remind himself before he went inside not to deviate from the plan. As much as he would like to go in with guns blazing, so to speak, it would be the wrong move. He'd planned things this way for a reason. He was entering at one o'clock in the morning when the highest ranking members would be back at their homes sleeping. Taking his revenge out on their hides would have to wait until a more opportune moment. For now they could be of much more use to him in other ways.

Sylar swiped the card and punched in the code he had watched Mohinder use just this morning.

Far too easy.

Without already having the building memorized, there was no way for Sylar to entirely disguise his movements. Security cameras would record doors opening and closing of their own accord until Sylar had gotten a good look at the room on the other side and could cover his tracks properly. It was the only flaw in his plan and one of the reasons Sylar wouldn't relax his guard in the slightest. Despite his confidence, he was under no delusions. He was in the den of the enemy and would have to act accordingly.

He wandered up and down dim and empty hallways for a long while, getting a sense of the layout, memorizing every last detail and filing it away. He had to restrain the urge to look for the cells. He knew that there would be some here, somewhere. The Texas branch had been, quite unfortunately, well prepared to deal with someone of his power. For a short while, at least.

Sylar could only imagine what fascinating abilities he might find in the depths of this building. Unfortunately he wasn't prepared to take the risk of bringing himself to their attention just yet, and going after any of their captives would surely set off some alarms. His next visit, however, would be considerably less restrained and he comforted himself with that knowledge, soothed his murderous impulses. He had to get what he wanted and get out. Stick to the plan.

He'd been in the building for about a quarter of an hour when he finally came across what had to be the office of someone in upper management. The placard on the door read "Bishop".

It was absurdly easy for Sylar to flip the deadbolt lock open.

The room had all the window dressings of a successful businessman. There was expensive furniture and accents, a computer and a ton of files filling the shelves. A picture sat on the desk of a paunchy man on a fishing trip, holding up his prize catch. Sylar sneered in disgust. Oh yes, he was in the right place.

Ideally he would had loved to get into their computer system. All the information he craved, physically itched for, would be locked up in all that hardware. Unfortunately Sylar had yet to meet anyone with an ability that would help him hack inside the computer mainframe. He wasn't computer illiterate, but everything important was bound to be buried beneath layer upon layer of security.

Sylar hoped this wouldn't be a problem. There were bound to be paper records of some sort, especially files on their more recent cases. If he was lucky the information he was searching for wouldn't be protected by more than a lock or two. Locks were definitely not a problem, locks were _easy_. When his eyes fell upon the rows of neatly labeled white boxes stacked across one wall of the office Sylar was instantly suspicious. It couldn't possibly be that simple.

He went to the first file box, labeled Paula Gramble, and plucked it off the shelf. He didn't even have to open it to know it was empty. Still, he took a peek inside, just in case, and only confirmed his original assessment. Sylar slid the box back with a small frown and considered the row of shelves. Why the deception? Surely there had to be a reason. Even if they didn't trust their own employees, there wouldn't be a need for it

The only conclusion Sylar could draw was that they were hiding something else.

The white boxes flew out of the way, coming to rest off to the side, revealing the bare wall behind. Sylar peered closely at the wall for several long moments, searching for anything at all out of place. He wished he had his glasses with him to help make out the finer details. Finding someone with enhanced vision would be handy to say the least.

Sylar caressed the paneling carefully, brushing his fingers lightly over it, searching for the tiniest imperfection. He'd covered almost the entire surface when he finally found it: the slightest, almost imperceptible flaw. Sylar took a step back, letting his hands fall to his sides. Reaching out with his mind he pushed, gently, not wanting to do it with his hands just in case it was booby-trapped in some way. Sylar wasn't taking any chances.

A small square of wood paneling slid backwards into the wall, just a centimeter deep. Sylar's enhanced hearing picked up a grating noise as a double-door sized section of the wall slid backwards before splitting down the middle and sliding off to the sides like a pair of elevator doors. Sylar heard the door to the office locking and spared a glance in that direction. Clearly Mr. Bishop didn't want to be disturbed when he opened this compartment. Sylar wondered idly if the blinds would have closed automatically too if they weren't already, but quickly pulled his thoughts back to more important matters.

At first there was nothing to see in the secret room but an inky blackness. Then the doors slid to a stop and a set of overhead lights flickered on. Sylar grinned in pleasure. The room wasn't too big, really just a large closet, but it was filled predominantly with what looked like very secure filing cabinets and one section of what appeared to be safety deposit boxes.

Sylar strode in, looking everything over at first without touching it. The filing cabinets were organized alphabetically and the lock boxes were numbered. Sylar tapped the first cabinet with a knuckle, listening to the reverberations. It sounded sturdy, probably fireproof and secured against most normal infiltration methods. Sylar could easily rip the drawers open with his telekinesis but the less these people knew about what he'd gotten access to, the happier Sylar would be. So instead he rapped on the cabinet in several different locations, using his enhanced hearing to pick up on the echoes, getting a sense for how the mechanism was set up. It took several more taps, a handful of attempts and some mild frustration, but Sylar finally figured the mechanism out and managed to turn the lock over with his mind.

Success!

He eagerly slid the drawer open and started sifting through the files, committing the list of names to memory. Most of the files were fairly thin and Sylar didn't waste the time to look too closely at them. If he had time he'd come back and give them all a more thorough look.

It didn't take long to find the first file he was hoping to discover: his own. It was neatly labeled Gabriel "Sylar" Gray and Sylar allowed himself a moment of pleasure to note that his case file was considerably thicker than the others. It was more delightful proof that he was more important, more special than anyone else.

He slipped the file out of the drawer and flipped through it quickly. It was filled with what various accounts of his history they'd managed to gather together as well as a dozen or so newspaper clippings from his murder spree. Most of the folder, however, was filled with various medical reports. The first looked like the original copies of various documents and formsfrom when he'd been held in Texas and experimented on. He felt a rising murderous rage at the mere memory but pushed it back down. Not now, not yet. The rest of the medical reports detailed the events after he'd crawled out of Kirby Plaza, information that Sylar was much more interested in.

The most fascinating part of his file, however, was the small tag with a reference number attached to it. Sylar frowned at it for a moment before peering over at the numbered boxes. Sure enough, one of the boxes had the same number as the tag in his file.

Sylar set the folder down for a moment and moved over to box number 17. It took a few minutes to figure out the different locking system but Sylar worked it out easily enough. He pulled the small door open and peered inside.

There was just one small package sitting near the back of the shelf and Sylar slid it out with great care. A small lump formed in his throat as he opened it up and an old friend fell out into his hand. The Sylar watch; its face still broken and its hands still stuck at seven minutes to midnight. It was almost like seeing a ghost.

A small part of Sylar's mind wondered what it was doing here in New York when it had been taken from him back in Texas. He couldn't concentrate on those thoughts at present though. He slipped the watch fondly back onto his wrist, thinking of everything it symbolized. He didn't think he'd be able to wear it around Mohinder. The questions that might arise were ones he didn't currently have the patience to deal with, but for now the watch was a comforting, familiar weight on his wrist.

It took a great amount of effort to move on with his search.

Sylar moved down the alphabet, keeping an eye out for any Asian sounding names. It was quite the pleasure to be able to add all these names to his mental list, but it was the kid with his fucking samurai sword that Sylar was really after. He was on the top of Sylar's hit list. Well, right after Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet. Peter was, unfortunately, temporarily off-limits. Claire's power was the most tempting, but it could wait a little while longer. There were far too many obstacles along that path at the moment.

Sylar closed the drawer he'd been working on and moved down to the next. He'd only just glanced inside when his jaw dropped. This drawer was astonishingly different from all the rest. A whole half of it was dedicated to what, impossibly, seemed to be just one man named Adam Monroe.

Sylar instantly wanted to rip him in two.

A scowl etched on his face, Sylar pulled out the first of many files and started reading. It didn't take very long for Sylar's expression to change from one of anger to one of amazement. This Adam had the same ability as the Bennet girl; and what was more, he was supposed to be somewhere around 400 years old.

_**400 years old!**_

Sylar's mind spun with the possibilities. It certainly explained the size of the file. A quick perusal showed a trail of information that went further and further back in time. The last few documents were written in an Asiatic script and were complete gibberish to Sylar, but that didn't matter. Four hundred years walking this earth. The things Sylar could do with immortality. He hadn't even considered that the Cheerleader's abilities might mean eternal life. Somehow he'd never imagined that it might prevent aging entirely, but the small photo attached to the file was proof of that.

Sylar devoured the most recent information on this Adam greedily. _Escaped from Company custody with the help of one Peter Petrelli._ Now that was an interesting tidbit. What had Petrelli been doing with the Company? It would make sense that they would want to keep him under lock and key. A man that was unstable enough to go nuclear and wipe out half of New York would definitely be seen as a threat. The question was how Peter had ended up in the Company's clutches.

Sylar shook the thoughts away, now was not the time. He went back to reading the file.

_Last seen at the Primatech Paper vault in Odessa Texas. Subject stormed the plant with the help of Peter Petrelli and broke into the vault. The two were intercepted by three other persons of interest: Matthew Parkman, Nathan Petrelli and Hiro Nakamura. Nakamura teleported himself and Monroe out of the vault. Current whereabouts unknown._

Hiro Nakamura. Oriental name and the ability to teleport. Now he had a name to go with the face. Better still, Nakamura could possibly lead him to this Adam Monroe. Killing Bennet's daughter would be sweet revenge against the man who had tortured him, but if he could get his hands on that wonderful ability without having to deal with Petrelli, well he'd be an idiot to pass up the chance.

Sylar slid the files back into place and skipped forward a few names to Hiro Nakamura. A feral grin spread across his face. He now had a home address and place of employment, everything Sylar would need to track the sword-wielding asshole down. The details on his ability were sketchy. Reports of teleportation, theorizing that he could fold space and –Sylar's eyes swam with sudden hunger- the possibility that he could manipulate time as well. They weren't certain, but Sylar could find out for himself when he had Nakamura's brain in his hands.

Satisfied, Sylar slipped Hiro's file back into its place. The watch on his wrist was broken and he didn't have another, but Sylar's a fantastically precise internal clock told him that he'd been in the bowels of the beast for over an hour now. As much as he would love to stay, he had what he'd come for and the longer he lingered the greater the chance that someone would catch on to his presence.

With great reluctance he slid the drawers shut, locking them back up with his mind. They would know he'd been here once they discovered what was missing, but the less they knew about what he'd seen and done the better. Knowledge was a powerful weapon and Sylar didn't intend to arm his enemies if he could help it.

Sylar plucked his own file back off the top of the cabinet where he'd left it. They were bound to have electronic copies of the information inside the file, but his intent wasn't to deprive the organization of the information. Instead, he wanted to know exactly what they'd done to him. If they hadn't been smart enough to keep copies of all the information within the thick folder, all the better.

-------------

The man once known as Takezo Kensei, thoughmore recently known as Adam Monroe, was drowning in agony. Starvation and oxygen deprivation were two of the worst deaths imaginable and Adam could only wish they had stayed in his imagination. He'd died more times from oxygen deprivation in this hell-hole then he could count. His lungs constantly burned and his stomach had all but wrapped around his spine.

The splatters of blood he knew stained the ripped silk he was entombed in were evidence of his weaker moments when he'd thrashed and clawed at the walls of his prison, desperate for escape. He had even managed to crack his own head open once. Now he had a pool of dried blood on the pillow making the back of his head itch to add to his long list of complaints.

Hiro Nakamura was going to pay and pay dearly when he escaped from this dark abyss of horror. Adam had already known the man to be a vile, thieving scoundrel, but now he knew the full the extent of his old friend's cruelty. Cruelty he intended to pay back a hundred fold. He could only hope that he got to administer that pain himself, and that the virus didn't get to Hiro before Adam could.

Sometimes, when it all became too much but he hadn't completely lost grip on his sanity, Adam would pull out of himself and imagine the world above. He had to admit that there was a chance, however small, that Peter had wised up in time to stop the vial from hitting the ground and releasing his divine justice, his purge of the unworthy. But Peter was a sentimental fool, easily deceived, and Adam amused himself by picturing death, chaos and destruction raining down on the world above.

Fear always brought out the worst in people.

No matter how arduous or torturous this existence was, Adam never lost that shred of hope, the last shard of his sanity. He would be rescued, eventually. His latest wife, perhaps the last and greatest of them all, would find him eventually. Of this he had no doubt. How long it would take, well that was another story.

Only one of his previous wives had accepted him for who he truly was. She had lived out her entire life with him, helping to conceal the fact that he never aged. Those had been some of the best years of his life and he'd mourned her passing for a long time afterwards. Those memories were one of his very few small comforts as he suffered in his tiny prison.

Adam had 400 years worth of memories and experiences, both good and bad. This was by far the worst. He'd died many times over his long life. He'd gotten into some rough situations and hadeven spent the last 30 years locked away in a concrete cage. It all paled in comparison to this. For all Adam knew he hadn't even been trapped in this coffin for very long, but it was more than long enough for him to have wished more than once that death would take him permanently into its sweet embrace. Constant agony will do that to you.

It was only the thought of Patricia that managed to drive the despair away. Patricia who hadn't even known him that long, but he knew she would never abandon him to this fate. She knew how badly things could go wrong if he'd miscalculated in his plans even slightly. She knew he might end up back in the hands of the Company, **his** Company. Scum of the earth! Vile betrayers, weak hearted fools and soft minded imbeciles! Death hadn't been punishment enough for those traitors.

Patricia wouldn't abandon him. She knew that only the worst could keep him out of contact for more than a day or two and she was prepared for the worst. They had made plans while Petrelli was off playing amnesiac in Ireland. Finding him here, buried deep underground in a Japanese graveyard would be tricky, but she would do it. She simply had to.


	10. Fallout

He was at peace, content, safe, calm. Mohinder floated in that pleasant state between sleep and awareness. Memories hadn't yet had their chance to filter in and instead he simply existed in the moment. He vaguely knew that he shouldn't be so comfortable, that his life had been filled with nothing but stress lately, but his concerns felt so very distant and unimportant. He rolled over, dimly expecting to find a source of warmth at his side, and found only a cold and empty spaceinstead.

The sudden disappointment triggered a flash of memories and with a jolt Mohinder shot upright. His heart pounded as a plethora of emotions surged through his system. He couldn't even begin to quantify them all. All he could do was sit there as his head swam and try very hard not to panic. He fervently wished that it all been some sordid dream or nightmare. He couldn't have possibly- no, not with Sylar.

_Please let it all have been a dream._

There was no trace of warmth in the bed beside him, a fact that was momentarily reassuring. Then Mohinder felt the crusted bodily fluids stuck to his chest and stomach. As he shifted there was a brief spike of pain in his ass that faded smoothly into a persistent, throbbing ache. Mohinder groaned and fell back against his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut in shame, hurt and anger. Perhaps the worst of it all was that fleeting feeling of disappointment at the cold, empty place beside him. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if it had meant something, but instead he felt used.

Again.

"Are you just going to sit there panicking or are you going to come have breakfast?" Sylar's voice, tinged with both amusement and annoyance, floated in from the kitchen and snapped Mohinder out of his thoughts.

_Oh shit._

Mohinder's already pounding heart nearly doubled in speed. A fact that, if the loud sigh that drifted in from kitchen was any indication, was picked up immediately by Sylar's sensitive hearing. There was no other response.

Mohinder took a few deep breaths and forced himself to relax. Now that he concentrated on it he could hear the clattering of dishes and detect the faint scent of eggs. Something about _Sylar_, Molly's boogieman, the infamous serial killer, doing something as mundane and domestic as cooking breakfast went a long way towards calming Mohinder down.

He rather desperately wanted a shower but quickly decided that he had a much stronger desire for the protection of clothes. He was suddenly far too aware of his nakedness and felt rather horribly exposed. Mohinder scrambled out of bed, wincing somewhat at the movement and feeling his face flush with embarrassment. He fumbled slightly with the drawers of his dresser before pulling on a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt. He would have gotten fully dressed, complete with multiple protective layers, if he weren't somewhat afraid of insulting the murderer in his kitchen.

For now this would have to do.

He certainly wasn't going out there without cleaning up a little, however, and he was quite happy to put off standing in the same room as Sylar by dashing into the bathroom to tidy up.

-------------

It was a good fifteen minutes before Mohinder finally summed up the courage to enter the kitchen. He'd managed to wash away most of the evidence of what had happened the night before. He had even attempted to shave but had quickly given that up as a bad idea. His hands were simply trembling too badly and he would only have ended up hurting himself. That aside, it had at least given him a chance to pull himself together a little.

The sight that met Mohinder's eyes when he finally reached the kitchen was decidedly surreal. Sylar sat at one side of the small dining table, sipping from a cup of tea. A plate of scrambled eggs and toast sat before him, still visibly steaming and untouched. An identical plate and mug sat at the other side of the small table, waiting expectantly for Mohinder. Sylar's eyes flickered over to Mohinder as he casually placed his cup back on the table. Mohinder felt curiously like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, complete with the sense of impending doom.

"There wasn't much in your fridge that hadn't gone bad, but I did what I could." Sylar spoke smoothly and calmly but there was an odd quality to his voice that Mohinder found disarming. Maybe it was simply that those words couldn't, in any possible way, be construed as threatening. Perhaps it was the small shrug of his shoulders as Sylar turned to his own portion. Then again, it could simply have been that the idea of Sylar cooking breakfast was far too _normal_. Whatever the reason, Mohinder found his feet moving of their own accord over to the table where he eased himself cautiously into the other chair.

Sylar proceeded to ignore Mohinder and slowly the geneticist's thoughts turned from self-defense to hunger. The eggs were surprisingly tasty and Mohinder hadn't really eaten much of anything in the lasttwenty-four hours. He'd barely touched his lunch the previous day and there hadn't been any dinner. He was nearly finished eating when a half-strangled string of chuckles erupted from the other side of the table.

Mohinder's head snapped up to see Sylar struggling not to choke on his toast amid grunts of laughter. Mohinder restrained the urge to demand that he be told what was so funny. Looking upon the man once again seemed only to steal any and all words from his throat.

It only took a few moments for Sylar to regain control and throw Mohinder his trademark grin.

"Breakfast was satisfactory then?" Sylar asked with a smirk. "I'm surprised you haven't passed out from lack of oxygen."

Mohinder felt his face burn with embarrassment. He had been shoveling his eggs and toast down rather hastily, but damnit he was hungry!

"I haven't eaten since yesterday morning." Mohinder mumbled, dropping his fork like it had suddenly decided to burn him. He folded his arms and averted his gaze from Sylar's haughty one. "Hardly tasted it."

There was nothing but silence for a long moment before the scraping of cutlery told Mohinder that Sylar had gone back to his own breakfast. Mohinder risked a glance and was surprised to see Sylar, rather than appearing pleased for having gotten under Mohinder's skin, was looking vaguely upset. Strangely, the sight wasn't a pleasant one. Mohinder frowned, finding himself unable to look away.

A few different responses came to mind. Some were fueled by a desire to lash out, others by a positively bizarre urge to comfort Sylar. Mohinder couldn't figure out what to do, he was at a complete loss. There were so many reasons for him to hate the man sitting on the opposite side of the table. On the other hand, he couldn't deny what had happened last night. He had mingled feelings of revulsion, disgust and self-hatred, and yet at the same time it had felt so damn good. In the moment it had just felt _right_. It hadn't been anything at all like he might have expected.

Thetenderness Sylar had shown in Mohinder's moments of weakness was paradoxical. Mohinder felt off-balance, like the solid foundation of reality he'd always stood on had suddenly shifted and changed irreparably. It had been altered, perhaps forever, and this new terrain was completely unknown and unexplored.

The fact that this had happened with Sylar was really only one part of a complex tangle of confusion. Having sexual feelings for another man was fairly unnerving in and of itself. This wasn't the first time, as there had been a fellow student in University, but Mohinder had come out of that experience with the view that it had only been youthful experimentation. After all there had been Mira and then his feelings towards Eden. He'd felt an attraction to Sylar-as-Zane almost immediately, sure, but he hadn't really contemplated what it meant; especially not after he'd found out the truth.

With all the other reasons that feeling this way towards Sylar was wrong, the fact that he was a man ranked pretty damn low on the list. After last night though, well it was impossible not to at leastthink about it a little. It probably said something significant about this whole sordid affair when pondering what this meant to his sexuality was one of the easier trains of thought for Mohinder's mind to follow.

Then there was the utter lack of protection. Mohinder was only slightly worried about that, but only because Claire's blood had probably purged any and all illnesses from Sylar's system. So unless Sylar had picked something up from being elbow-deep in Nathan's blood he was probably safe. Still, it had been stupid and dangerous. Though, given the fact that he'd had sex with a serial killer, it was perhaps not so dangerous in comparison.

So now what? That was the most pressing worry. What the hell did this mean for the future? It almost would have been more welcome for Sylar to have simply vanished during the night. It certainly would have made more sense. Mohinder wanted to ask about it but he was finding himself strangely reluctant to speak. Part of him really didn't want to hear the answer.

"So is Petrelli a giant plague rat then?" Sylar's ice-laced words snapped Mohinder out of his musings. Sylar was sitting tall in his seat, arms folded, looking at Mohinder with that intense, searching stare that made Mohinder feel horribly exposed.

"There is some foreign substance in his blood," Mohinder answered cautiously, finding his voice once more.

Sylar sighed, his entire posture screaming discontent with the answer. It wasn't hard to figure out why; restraint was not in Sylar's nature. Mohinder waited for some sort of reaction, but Sylar seemed to be lost in introspection.

Once it appeared clear that no response was forthcoming Mohinder quietly gathered up the dishes and took them to the sink. He couldn't think of anything to say or do, but the more the silence stretched on the more his mind dwelled on just how wrong the previous night had been. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't either sound idiotic or be horribly embarrassing and the last thing he needed to do was give Sylar more ammunition.

Unfortunately Sylar really didn't need any.

Familiar hands brushed against Mohinder's shoulders, sliding down his arms in a manner far too sensual for Mohinder's liking. He didn't even bother to wonder how Sylar had managed, once again, to sneak up on him without making a sound.

"You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?" Sylar mused in a resigned fashion.

Mohinder tensed, angry and uncomfortable with the tiny thrill that raced up his spine. He didn't know what he wanted but he certainly wasn't going to let Sylar pull the same trick twice. He whirled around and shoved Sylar back and away from him. The further away the better, it seemed the only way he could think clearly.

"You're a murderer!" Mohinder shot back, his words laced with agony. "And it's not like you've stopped or shown any sign of remorse or repentance! How the hell do you expect me to be ok with that?"

At first Sylar was amused, letting himself be pushed back. Then he heard the flutter in Mohinder's heart and saw the tiniest hints of tears in the corner of his eyes.

"Would it make a difference?" Sylar asked neutrally, not betraying even the slightest hint of emotion in either direction. Mohinder peered at him guardedly, eyes still shimmering with loathing both for himself and the killer in his kitchen.

"Would what make a difference?"

"If I stopped," Sylar replied evenly. He was studying Mohinder with that eerily intense gaze, head tilted ever so slightly in curiosity. It was as if he was dissecting Mohinder with his eyes, peeling back the layers to reveal his inner workings.

Mohinder stilled, eyeing Sylar cautiously. He didn't believe that Sylar ever would, ever could stop. Still, that small part of him that wanted this, beyond all logic, was desperate to know if it was possible.

"Yes." Mohinder had meant to say maybe but the yes had slipped out before he could stop it. He supposed it was the more honest answer. It might not make much of a difference but maybe it could make a small one.

Sylar seemed to consider this for a moment and then shrugged a little.

"Shame." He replied, amusement creeping back into his voice. "I have absolutely no intention of stopping." He took another step forward, invading Mohinder's personal space relentlessly. "You'll just have to get used to it."

"Get _used_ to it?" Mohinder gaped at Sylar in total disbelief as he instinctively pressed himself further back against the kitchen counter. "You're crazier than I thought if you believe for even a moment that I would stand idly by while you go on another killing spree!"

"Oh really?" Sylar raised an eyebrow as he loomed over the geneticist. "It wouldn't be the first time though, now would it? You've certainly had enough chances to stop me in the past."

Mohinder averted his eyes, not wanting to meet Sylar's calculating gaze. Before he would have denied that sentiment vehemently, but Mohinder had spent the last few days running over past events in his mind. As much as he wished it were otherwise, Sylar's words were painfully true. He wanted to try and justify himself, claim monumental stupidity if nothing else, but words caught in his throat.

"Don't you see Mohinder? We work so well together." Sylar moved in a flash, grabbing Mohinder around the waist and tugged him abruptly forward, grinding their pelvises together. "We just _fit._"

Mohinder bit back a moan at the intimate contact and braced his hands against Sylar's chest, pushing him firmly and insistently away. Sylar, however, had no intention of moving this time and refused to budge. His combination of strength and telekinesis made escape impossible.

"Get away from me Sylar." Mohinder growled out, focusing on where his hands were pressed up against Sylar's chest, refusing to meet the taller man's gaze. He didn't dare.

Sylar grasped Mohinder's chin in his hand, taking even that choice away from him. He forced Mohinder to look upwards and meet his eyes.

"You can't deny it Mohinder." Sylar returned confidently. "You can lie to yourself but not to me."

Mohinder's fists clenched reflexively. He tried to wrench himself from Sylar's grip but found himself now pinned by telekinesis as well. No way out. No escape.

Time to face the music.

"I hate you." Mohinder's eyes were misting with the beginnings of tears but his voice was as cold as steel. It was as if he were willing the words to stab Sylar through the heart like a dagger and end this torment once and for all.

Something passed through Sylar's expression. Just for a moment it flickered, changed, and became something utterly foreign. In the next instant it was gone.

"Maybe," he continued on, not skipping a beat. "But you still want me. I can hear it in your heart. Besides," his lips curled into that quintessential bastard grin. "I seem to recall you begging for me last night."

"Temporary insanity." Mohinder lied through his teeth, but he did it with all the conviction he could muster.

For a moment Sylar looked like he wanted very much to hurt Mohinder. The dangerous intent behind his eyes was unmistakable. Mohinder felt himself shuddering in response. He knew provoking Sylar like this could lead to violence, but he simply couldn't accept this newfound reality. He would fight against it and Sylar with every ounce of strength he possessed.

The moment passed and Sylar smiled. He released his physical grip on Mohinder's chin, running a thumb along Mohinder's jaw line before twining his fingers into Mohinder's soft curls.

"You're so cute when you're terrified." Sylar teased the smaller man, reveling in his startled reaction and renewed attempts to escape. Sylar had Mohinder completely wrapped in telekinetic bonds. The struggle wasn't visible, but he could feel every frantic tug against the restraints. His senses flared every time Mohinder's muscles tensed and twitched in his feeble struggle for freedom.

"Its ok, Mohinder," Sylar went on patronizingly, "You just need some time to get used to the idea. I _understand_."

Sylar cupped the back of Mohinder's head and pulled him into a bruising kiss. He assaulted Mohinder's lips, remorseless and unrelenting. He drank in Mohinder's taste, savoring it and storing it away in his perfect memory. Mohinder made some strangled noise of protest but Sylar simply swallowed it whole.

Only when he had Mohinder gasping for breath did Sylar pull back, running the tip of his tongue lightly down caramel skin until he reached the perfect spot. A little over an inch from the collar bone he stopped his journey downwards and sucked. He pulled smooth skin into his mouth, listening to the blood vessels rupturing with satisfaction.

"Sylar- what- don't!"

Sylar ignored Mohinder's squeaks of protest and when he finally pulled back to admire his work he was quite pleased. It wasn't as striking as it would have been against pale, Caucasian flesh, but the bruise was still quite visible. It was such a little thing, but it held a powerful meaning. The hickey marked Mohinder as taken and claimed as Sylar's, should anyone be foolish enough to get too close while he was gone.

"_Mine."_ Sylar hissed into Mohinder's ear,

Sylar wasn't sure just what he was going to do about this in the long run, but for now it was simple enough. Mohinder Suresh was his. He might not be particularly willing at the moment, but the previous night was proof enough that it would only take a bit of time before Sylar could claim him body, mind and soul.

"I'm not- you can't-" Mohinder's indignant, spluttering protests were cut off as Sylar wrapped his right hand around Mohinder's neck, pressing his thumb gently but firmly and threateningly against the shaking, caramel throat.

"Now, I'm leaving town for a few days." Sylar declared with that patronizing smile of his. "I'm sure you're going to be tempted to try something stupid and I would tell you not to but I doubt you'll listen. You can try and run if you really want to. I do enjoy a good chase. Just don't fool yourself into thinking you can hide from me. I may not have gotten my hands on dear, sweet Molly's power, but her father's will be more than enough to track you down again."

Mohinder's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear when Molly's name tumbled from Sylar's lips and Sylar had to bite back a chuckle. He wanted to preserve his air of nonchalance.

He dropped his handand turned his back on Mohinder, taking a few quick strides towards the door and willing his possessions to come to his hands. Sliding on his jacket, he tilted his head to take in Mohinder once more and this time he failed to suppress a smile. Mohinder looked so utterly torn. He kept opening his mouth to speak and then seemed to think better of it. When Sylar's eyes met his again, however, he made up his mind.

"If you lay so much as a finger on her Sylar, I swear I'll-" The rest of the words got stuck in his throat, but he really didn't need to verbalize the rest. Sylar didn't give him a chance to say more anyway.

"She's safe, _for_ _now_." He shrugged and thrust a hand into his jacket pocket, brushing against a small piece of plastic. Mohinder's keycard, he'd almost forgotten all about it. "You'll be wanting this back, I expect." He plucked the card out with nimble fingers and with a flick of his digits sent it sailing to land on the kitchen table. "Have fun explaining that to your boss." Sylar shot Mohinder one last decidedly evil grin and strode out the door

-------------

Mohinder stood frozen in place for several long moments, his mind whirling. It was only the sight of his keycard that stopped the frantic spinning. He stumbled over to the nearest chair and fell into it, sliding the keycard to rest in front of him. If Sylar had 'borrowed' his keycard then that meant he had taken a midnight excursion into the Company building. Mohinder could only stare at the small piece of plastic in horror. Had Sylar gone on another killing spree while Mohinder had been sleeping? Why use Mohinder's access to sneak in though? Had he been after something else instead?

Mohinder tried hard not to picture Elle, Bob and Maya lying dead in a pool of their own blood with their skulls sliced open. If they were dead then his world had been tilted even more on its side then before. If they were,then Sylar was going to be his biggest problem. If they weren't dead though, if Sylar had snuck in during the middle of the night to purposefully avoid being detected, then Mohinder had a whole new set of issues to deal with. When they eventually discovered that they'd had an intruder they would be able to track his entrance to Mohinder's access card and he'd have some serious explaining to do. From Sylar's parting words, that was probably the case. How the hell _was_ he going to explain this? How long did he have before he got a phone call, or worse a visitor, demanding answers?

Curse Sylar for adding this to his troubles on top of everything else! Mohinder had to keep the Company from becoming suspicious. He was the only insider that the Company currently trusted. Denial seemed the obvious choice, but would they believe him?

Possibilities and questions flooded his mind. Would they know it was Sylar, or would they be looking for a name for the intruder as well? There were ups and downs to both options, but realistically Sylar needed to be the one, in the end, that the Company pinned the break-in on.

_Use the truth._ _Sylar stole my card then returned it. I didn't know anything about it._ _Should I call them first? Tell them I found my card on the kitchen table, not where I left it? How do I explain Sylar being _in my apartment _and not harming me? I can't play dumb forever; they won't believe that I haven't figured it out. Do I tell bits of the truth in that case too?_

Mohinder dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Why couldn't his life ever just be simple?

-------------

Eventually Mohinder settled on a shower. He felt dirty beyond measure, and it would give him some time to think. It did help a little, but he still ached in embarrassing places and more than one bruise coloured his body. The finger marks on his hips were by far the worst. No one would be able to see them but they were an all too vibrant reminder of what had happened.

Shaving had been highly unpleasant to say the least. He'd been unable to stop from shifting his gaze back to the blotch marring his neck, Sylar's last demeaning act. As a result he'd ended up with a plethora of small nicks and cuts that he'd managed to inflict on himself in his distracted state.

Far from helping him to clear his mind, the shower had only succeeded in bringing his emotional distress to the fore. Mohinder didn't really want to think about either of his problems, but the one involving the Company was of more immediate importance. He had to forget what happened between himself and Sylar. He had to forget his current state of self-loathing. He had to figure out how to explain Sylar's possession of his keycard without betraying the slightest hint of what had happened.

Mohinder slid into a pair of khakis and pulled out a turtleneck to hide the hickey. There was no more obvious sign of what had happened then the blemish marring his neck. Which was, he was sure, precisely what Sylar wanted

Mohinder returned to the kitchen, eyeing the keycard warily. Running a hand through his damp curls, Mohinder sat down and picked up the slim piece of plastic, gazing at it with disdain. It seemed far too small a thing for the massive amount of trouble it was going to cause.

There was a knock at the door.

_Speaking of trouble._

Mohinder was pretty damn sure it wasn't Sylar on the other side of the door. Sylar definitely wouldn't knock. So Mohinder got up with a sigh, pulling himself together. It certainly hadn't taken them long.

He peered through the peephole and felt a jolt of surprise. It was someone from the Company, as expected, but it was the last person Mohinder thought they would send.

Mohinder pulled the door open and fixed a hard stare on the man standing outside.

"Hello Bennet."


	11. The Plan

"Hello Bennet," Mohinder greeted the other man as politely as he could, given the circumstances. He stepped aside, letting Noah in and shut the door carefully behind him. "I have to admit, I expected the cavalry."

"Oh I brought the cavalry with me." Noah assured him as he surveyed the apartment. "I just sent them home when we determined Sylar wasn't here."

Mohinder gestured towards an empty dining chair. He didn't fail to notice the gun just barely visible under Bennet's open jacket. It was just that, all things considered, he didn't have it in him to be worried about such mundane things at the moment.

"Tea?"

"No, thank you." Bennet took the offered seat and nodded towards the keycard that Mohinder had dropped back onto the table.

"I guess I don't need to tell you that you've got some explaining to do."

"I only wish that I had more answers for you." Mohinder replied as he slid into another of the chairs. It was taking a monumental amount of effort to keep his attitude casual. "Is anyone hurt?"

"No, actually." Noah replied with a frown. "And before you ask, no I don't know what he was up to. To be honest, when it was explained to me what happened I had expected to find out he'd killed you. So the real question is: what happened here?"

Mohinder sighed, looking off to the side at nothing in particular.

"Not much, really." He started, pulling up his regrettably only half thought out story. "I woke up and he was here. He tossed the card at me, said '_have fun explaining this to your boss'_ and left. I don't know why, but he seems intent on mind games at the moment."

Noah seemed to consider this for a long moment and Mohinder did his best not to look guilty. The silence was oppressive and he found himself talking just to fill the empty air.

"So why'd they send you?" He asked with genuine curiosity.

Noah jerked roughly out of his thoughts. He regarded Mohinder mutely for a moment before answering.

"Sylar's my first new _assignment_." The emphasis made it plenty clear to Mohinder how Bennet felt about working for the Company again. It seemed that, for the moment, Mohinder was being considered the lesser of two evils. "I've dealt with him before and I've got plenty of motivation to see him stopped."

Mohinder just nodded. He was reminded all of a sudden that since he hadn't told anyone about Claire, Bennet wouldn't know either. Information about his daughter would be a good way to get him to listen while Mohinder explained about the Petrelli's plans. He was still pulling his thoughts into order, however, when Bennet continued talking.

"It'll be a lot harder this time though. We need something to incapacitate him before he has a chance to use that telekinesis of his. Last time I had Eden and the Hatian. Without similar resources we need to be somewhat more.. cunning."

"Wait, _we_?" Mohinder's mouth dropped open in stunned dismay.

"You haven't been assigned to be my partner or anything," Noah leaned forward, folding his hands on the table before him, looking Mohinder hard in the eye. "Listen. I'm not sure I believe you when you say that you don't know why Sylar keeps -_visiting­_ you, but it doesn't really matter why he's decided to toy with you rather than kill you. Frankly, right now we have no way of tracking him without Molly. What we _do_ know, is that in the last week he's come to you three times." Bennet sighed as he misinterpreted the horror that tugged at Mohinder's features. "I know its dangerous, but right now this is the only option we've got. You fooled him once before, do you think you can do it again?"

"You- you can't be serious?" Mohinder felt like he was going to be sick. This day just kept getting worse and worse. "That was when he thought I was his _friend_. Now that he knows I'm an enemy? No way."

The worst of it all was that Bennet was even more right then he could possibly know. Sylar had said he would be back. Getting close enough to him, distracting him long enough to stick him full of sedatives could be easy. Mohinder might not succeed but there'd be no better way to surprise him.

Except that he wasn't sure he wanted to do it.

"You disappoint me Dr. Suresh. Lose your nerve after shooting me?" Bennet spoke with a disturbing calmness. The words glinted like the edge of a freshly sharpened and polished blade. Mohinder was tempted to rise to the challenge in those words, to justify himself for pulling that trigger. Unfortunately his guilt over the event was all too real and any protestations would only be hollow words.

"Things aren't that simple Bennet." Mohinder replied tiredly, rubbing his temples in an attempt to stave off the headache he could feel blooming in his skull. "In fact, they're unbelievably complicated." He took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling as he finished sorting his thoughts into order. "How much do you know about the assassination attempt on Nathan Petrelli's life?"

Mohinder carefully explained everything that had happened with Nathan, Peter, Claire and Sylar. He edited things a little, but thankfully only he and Sylar knew exactly what had been happening in that motel room before Peter showed up. Noah tried to interrupt several times during the story, notably whenever Mohinder reached a point where Sylar and Claire were in the same room. Eventually the whole story got told, everything from the Petrelli's desires to take down the Company to the ominous message from the future.

"You just can't make up your mind, can you Dr. Suresh?" Bennet chided. "First you tell me you want to take the Company down, then you go native, and now you want to bring them down again. I can't work with someone so liable to change his mind at the drop of a hat. This is a dangerous game and I'm not playing it with anyone who's not completely committed."

Mohinder let out a puff of air in annoyance. He was starting to get a headache from the constant tension in his shoulders and it didn't look like things were going to calm down for him anytime soon.

"I still maintain that dealing with the virus, and now figuring out how to cure Peter, are the most important issues at the moment. We need the Company's resources for that, its unfortunate but its true. I never said that I liked that fact, but that's what it is, a fact." Mohinder explained with more than a hint of annoyance. "I understand your feelings concerning Claire, I do. I've worked my hardest to keep Molly out of the Company's clutches as well; but the fact was, and still is, that her blood is the only way to cure the more virulent strains of the virus. The thing is, Claire was more than willing to give us some. If you hadn't been so damn stubborn things would have gone a lot smoother. I know you're worried about things getting out of hand, but I was never going to let that happen."

"If the Company wants to do something Suresh, they will. Don't delude yourself into thinking you could protect Claire from them. That's my job and I know the only way to do it is to keep her out of their clutches entirely." Bennet shot back angrily.

"And what if Claire's blood is the only thing that can cure Peter? What if more people contract the nastier strains of the virus?" Mohinder shot back defensively. "Dammit Noah, I understand your concerns but Claire could save so many lives and what's more, she wants to! Nathan and Peter can keep her safe and hidden. They're good people, and as long as Peter's infected they're safe from Sylar. Sylar won't risk accidentally killing Peter right now, she couldn't be in better hands."

**Knock, Knock!**

Mohinder and Bennet's heads both snapped around to stare at the door. Sylar had said he would be gone for a few days, but Mohinder had no reason to trust anything Sylar said. He hadn't told Bennet anything though, and it was fairly obvious his first thought was Sylar as well.

"Mohinder?" Peter's voice, cautious and concerned floated through the door and Mohinder let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. He got up from his seat with a smile tugging at his lips as he pulled the door open. Peter's timing couldn't have been better.

"Peter! What are you doing here?" He asked as he stepped aside to let the younger man in.

"I was in the neighbourhood," Peter replied hastily and with a shrug. "But uh-" Whatever Peter was going to add evaporated on the tip of his tongue as he spotted the other man in the room.

"Nice to see you again Peter." Bennet extended his hand with a friendly smile and Peter shook it automatically. "I was glad to hear that both you and your brother are well."

"Thank you." Peter's gaze flickered between the two men. "So Mohinder's filled you in then has he? You will help us won't you?" He looked so earnest and desperate all at the same time and both Bennet and Mohinder found themselves wincing a bit. Disappointing Peter was never easy. Mohinder certainly didn't want to do it again, but if Bennet refused…

All three men took a seat around the dining table and Mohinder felt a soothing wave of relief. For the moment no one was paying him any attention and it was a wonderful change of events. He resolved to stay silent and unnoticed for as long as possible.

"We'll its definitely something that the Company would do." Bennet conceded cautiously. "I'm at the bottom of the trust totem pole right now, but I think I can do some digging for you as long as I'm still in town."

"Well we'd appreciate that Noah." Peter replied politely; though that hadn't exactly been the enthusiastic response he'd been hoping for. "So… where are you headed?"

Bennet cleared his throat and shot a glance in Mohinder's direction but Mohinder studiously avoided eye contact.

"I'm in charge of the hunt for Sylar. So I don't know where I'll be for the next little while. I was hoping that Doctor Suresh might be of some help with that but apparently I was mistaken." The derision in Bennet's tone was undeniable and Mohinder's entire body tensed in apprehension. His relief had been short lived to say the least.

"Why would…" Peter trailed off as he turned to take in the oddly silent member of the group. All Mohinder could do was brace for impact as his lies turned around to bite him in the ass.

"I was going to ask why you didn't check into a hotel like you said you would." The hurt in Peter's voice only served to make Mohinder feel even worse. Lying to Peter hadn't been easy in the first place.

"Listen, I'm sorry Peter but it was the only way to keep you from worrying about me. Sylar knows where my lab is so what was the point in giving up the comforts of home?" Mohinder explained softly. "As long as you're infected I'm not in any danger. He needs me to find a cure so that he can- um…"

"-kill me," Peter finished for him evenly and Mohinder nodded silently. "So its true then?"

"I'm afraid so," Mohinder confirmed wearily. "I can't tell you much more than that. Except that its like nothing I've ever seen before. I left some tests running overnight, but I don't expect to have concrete findings any time soon."

"Well you made the right choice in keeping this a secret from the Company at least." Bennet chimed in suddenly. "Otherwise I have a feeling I'd be assigned to bring you in right now Peter. For the _greater good_, of course."

"Ya, well I stared at those concrete walls long enough for one lifetime." Peter grumbled absently, provoking startled glances from the other men. Peter didn't notice at first, too lost in whatever memory had overtaken him, but finally he let out a sigh and stared up at the ceiling.

"After the explosion… and Nathan, well. I was desperate to keep it from happening again. So I walked willingly into their hands." Peter let out a bland chuckle that was absolutely devoid of amusement. "I thought they would help me. I didn't think I had a choice. Adam was right in the end though, they never intended to do more than keep me drugged and locked away."

"I can't imagine they would just let you walk out of there," Mohinder observed dryly. Peter let out another chuckle in response, though this one with a bit more humour in it.

"Of course not. Fortunately I managed not to let on that I was anything less than willing to be there. So I pretended to take my meds until my abilities came back." He shrugged then, pulling into himself a little.

"Anyway, you said you hoped Mohinder could help catch Sylar?" Peter changed the subject abruptly and eagerly. The Empath didn't want to talk about what had happened to him over the last four months. He did, however, want to know what was going on with Sylar.

Bennet and Mohinder shared a long look, each trying to out-stubborn the other. It was a short battle of wills, but Mohinder felt he owed at least some honesty to Peter and caved first. He'd rather talk about absolutely anything else, but there really wasn't any choice.

"Sylar was here again," _-last night-_ "this morning." Mohinder explained hesitantly, trying his hardest to keep his thoughts tightly under wraps. "He, ah, _borrowed_ my Company access card and… well, Noah seems to think since Sylar keeps showing up at my doorstep that he might do so again."

_As if there were any doubt._

"What he has _failed_ to consider, however," Mohinder continued in clear annoyance. "Is that even if Sylar comes back here, there's no way I could possibly deceive him like last time." _Not that even that turned out well._ "His hearing has made him into a walking lie detector. Besides, the only reason he has to come back is to find out if you've been cured and he's smart enough to know that this kind of research is more likely to take years than days." Mohinder shifted his attention towards Bennet, "if he broke into the building without killing anyone then he must have been after information. He's probably closing in on his next victim even as we speak!"

_Of course he is. I _know _he is. I should be jumping at the chance to stop him! Have I completely lost my mind? Oh shit- Peter._

It took all the willpower Mohinder possessed to keep his eyes on Bennet, and not let them snap towards Peter.

"You have a point." Bennet conceded reluctantly, "but that still leaves us with the problem of finding him. Mohinder-"

"No." Mohinder knew where this was going and was going to stop that train of thought before it had even left the station. "Don't make yourself into a hypocrite Noah. Sylar's on the move and asking Molly to find him even once could be devastating for her."

"I'm out of options Mohinder," Bennet replied quietly. "Without Molly the only way we'll be able to find him will be to follow the trail of corpses!"

"What about me?" Peter's almost timid inquiry banished the tension from the room. Mohinder and Noah looked to him with expression that, while different, both screamed 'Why didn't I think of that?' "This Molly, she can track people down with her ability?"

Peter's inquiry was met with a pair of nods.

"So let me meet her and I'll help track down Sylar." Peter spoke resolutely. "I don't know how much more help I can be right now, but this I _can_ do."

Mohinder's mind whirred with possibilities as he analyzed the situation. He _could_ arrange for them to meet up safely. It was a logical solution, the perfect one really.

"Doctor Suresh?" Bennet prodded him verbally, clearly on board with the idea.

"I'll call Matt," Mohinder agreed slowly. "The four of us can go out to dinner. Its been too long since I last saw her anyway, and that way we can pretend its just a friendly meal. She doesn't need to know what's going on."

"Got it," Peter agreed with a more than a hint of enthusiasm.

"In the meantime I'd like to get back to my lab," Mohinder continued decisively. "I'll call you with a time and place."

-------------

Sylar let out a long yawn and stretched out in his wonderfully comfortable first-class seat. He'd debated simply flying to Japan on his own power alone, but the dual threat of freezing and getting lost over the ocean had dissuaded him. Besides which, a long plane ride would give him time to rest and give his file a more thorough look.

Taking an airplane the whole way had been out of the question as it would have taken far too long. So instead he compromised, flying under his own power to California and hopping a plane from there.

Sylar gazed out his window, taking in the fluffy white clouds as well as the vast and unending blue sea. This was actually Sylar's first time in an airplane. It wasn't nearly as novel an experience as he might have expected. After all, he'd already flown the skies using Nathan's ability. By comparison this was positively boring. Still, it was definitely more comfortable.

If Sylar hadn't acquired Candice's power this might not have been possible. He hadn't had a passport as Gabriel Gray and he was wanted for murder under both his names. Jacob Leeroy, a middle-aged businessman who'd recently arrive in New York on business, however, was completely innocent and innocuous. It had been far too easy to steal his identification and identity. It probably wouldn't be long before Mr. Leeroy realized his passport was missing, but it hardly mattered. Sylar could simply make himself invisible if the authorities were clued in to what had happened, and with any luck he'd be teleporting back home.

The mere thought of such an amazing power had embedded a dangerous glint in Sylar's eyes. He was back on the hunt. One lust had been sated, but now the one for power and revenge had taken over.

Sylar ran a thumb along the seam of the strap on his one piece of carryon and grinned at the sight. Sylar had taken Mohinder's satchel with him when he'd left the apartment. He'd needed something to keep his file in if he was going to be flying across the country and it amused him to think of Mohinder's reaction when he realized the bag was missing. Messing with Mohinder's head was just too much fun to resist.

He continued the motion absently, his mind drifting back over the last 24 hours. Realistically, things couldn't have gone much better. He was on his way to scratch the first name off his revenge hit list, and as a bonus the man was a time-traveling teleporter. He'd memorized a new list of names, including a 400 year old regenerating man; and with any luck he'd be able to get his location out of Hiro before he died. Questioning him and preventing him from using his powers at the same time would be difficult, but Sylar would think of something. He always did.

It was a shame though, that he had to travel to the other side of the world to get to Nakamura. This flight alone was going to suck up twelve hours of time. Sure, some of that time would be spent sleeping, but he could think of much more comfortable places he could be resting. Like with his arms wrapped around the lithe form of a certain geneticist.

Sylar closed his eyes while the memory crystallized into perfect clarity: Mohinder sprawled hap hazardously across the bed, his hair disheveled, the tear in his soft lower lip just beginning to heal. Bruises in the very first stages of formation mapping out the places that Sylar had been, the territory he had explored and claimed for his own.

Sylar rapidly found himself lost in the recollection.

Had he been more alert the idea might have disturbed him. That he was so pleased, so comforted by the thought, by the memory, should have been worrying. Instead the memory of that sleepy moment seemed to remind his body that sleep as of late had been all to brief and that he was far overdue.

Curled up in his seat with his thoughts, Sylar found himself drifting off to a the world of dreams with a smile on his face.

-------------

He was floating outside his body. There was no more pain, no more suffering, no more darkness. There was no more anything. Nothingness was all that existed and he failed to exist in it. He wasn't thinking, wasn't breathing, wasn't anything.

- and yet….

It was faint, oh so faint at first. The slightest of things, so small that it might as well be non-existent. In any other circumstance it would have been imperceptible, but in this void it tore through the nothingness, meeting no resistance, and became the entire universe. Everything that ever was and ever would be existed in that muffled screech.

Adam snapped out of the insanity of terminally hovering in that space between life and death and _listened._

There! Again! Louder this time.

If he was capable of anything other than existing he would be screaming. If his heart were functioning properly it would have been beating madly in his chest. If he had breath left to gasp and tears left to shed he would be sobbing.

The sound got louder and louder, grew more complex, closer. His mind was so broken that he couldn't process what was could be creating it, but it didn't matter. That sound was the first thing he had heard in what might as well have been an eternity and it was the pure embodiment of hope.

Right up until it stopped.

Time itself held its breath. The echo of freedom faded into the walls of his prison and the very fabric of reality stood on the brink of destruction.

The entire world shook. Sound returned, his world vibrating in harmony with the trembling. Life flooded in, pushing the nothingness back, replacing death with life. Dirt mingled with the air that Adam sucked greedily into his lungs but he didn't care. He coughed and spluttered and his entire body burned with pain, but he _didn't care_. He sucked air greedily into his lungs, hacking and coughing until the desperate gasps turned into peals of laughter.

Eyes that had nothing to drink but darkness for an age gorged themselves on light. It filled him up like the mana of the gods was flowing down from the star-filled heavens just for this moment.

The universe existed once more.

His angel had finally come for him.


	12. Dining and Dashing

Mohinder sat back in his lab chair and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the prodding ache that the simple act of sitting down brought him. The whirring of the centrifuge was a loud and domineering presence in an otherwise silent room, but Mohinder blocked it out with practiced ease. His heart hadn't really been into his work anyway and as soon as he had found himself needing to wait on another set of test results his mind had fled the familiar comforts of scientific inquiry.

He'd already made arrangements for dinner with Matt, Molly and Peter. He was looking forward to seeing Molly again, but otherwise the prospect was vaguely terrifying. Peter had given him the strangest look when he'd left the apartment that morning and Mohinder was quietly panicking that the ex-nurse had been reading his mind. Add to that the fact that he'd committed to eating dinner with _two_ mind-readers and he figured he might as well die of embarrassment now and get it over with.

Mohinder honestly didn't know what he was going to do. His attempts to keep his thoughts under control seemed more and more futile. He couldn't even begin to imagine what might happen if and when the two men found out what had transpired. It seemed that there was no such thing as privacy anymore.

If it weren't for Molly, Mohinder would be sorely tempted to just not show up. Except that doing so would likely only provoke even more unwanted attention. He was stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place, trapped with no way out. There was a chance that he'd survive the night without arousing any suspicion, but he was starting to seriously doubt his odds.

Mohinder found himself wishing that Sylar would change his mind, show up again, and decide to kill him out of revenge. At least that would be simple. At least then the world would make an odd kind of sense again. Mohinder just didn't have the energy to deal with this bullshit any longer.

Sylar, Sylar, Sylar.

Now that Mohinder finally had time and his thoughts to himself, he had a chance to try and process everything that had happened. Unfortunately, no matter what way he twisted and turned things, peered at them from different angles, he couldn't make any sense of it all. There were a lot of things that Mohinder could do, and definitely some things that he _should_ do, but none of them felt right.

He supposed that the right thing to do would have been to agree to work with Bennet. Mohinder should have been so disgusted with everything that had happened, so desperate for a way out, that he would have jumped at the chance. It would have been dangerous, and if he had failed and was discovered he would probably have been facing a fate worse than death, but it would have been the right thing to do. He would have liked to tell himself that he was simply a coward and not willing to take the risk, but that wasn't it. It also wasn't that he wanted Sylar alive. No, if he had been that far lost to his insanity then he wouldn't be helping Peter to track the man down. Instead, the only answer he could grasp that seemed even remotely correct was that he couldn't bring himself to commit such an intimate act of betrayal.

Somehow, beyond all logic and reason, Sylar had decided that he wanted Mohinder in his life. It was an absolutely terrifying idea, but in a weird sort of way it was also incredibly flattering. He was disgusted with himself for thinking that way but he couldn't honestly deny it. Sylar had spared Elle's life solely because of him. Sylar claimed to have, in an odd sort of way, spared Nathan for the same reason. Mohinder had been perfectly honest in his reaction to those actions back in the motel room. Yet at the same time he couldn't deny that, for _Sylar_, sparing Elle's life, at least, had been a monumentally huge event. Sylar was defined by his lust for power and, in retrospect, it was almost hard to believe that he had given up the chance to collect an ability like Elle's. To think that Sylar had decided, in his own twisted way, that he'd rather acquire Mohinder's favour than another power, well it was quite frankly mind-boggling.

If it weren't for the fact that Sylar was, quite certainly, currently out stalking his next victim, Mohinder might have allowed himself the delusion that the man was still redeemable. Instead he was left with a strange mix of pleasure for being so important to, quite frankly, anyone and despair over the fact that it was a serial killer who felt this way about him. Perhaps worst of all, however, was the fact that he couldn't deny his attraction to the man.

There was something about Sylar that had captivated Mohinder from the instant he'd laid eyes on him. It was one of the few moments in their strange history that had been unsullied by the knowledge of the atrocities that Sylar had committed. It was hard to peel away the truth from the lies, but for the first time Mohinder felt at least moderately equipped to solve that puzzle.

He tried to picture the man that Sylar had been before he met Chandra Suresh and took on his new identity. It was impossible to accept the idea that his father had been an even remotely willing accomplice to Sylar's first murders, but now that Mohinder had been provided with more details it was just as impossible to deny the fact that his father was at least a catalyst to the events that ensued. Not actively involved, perhaps, but if he hadn't approached Gabriel Gray then none of this madness would have ever happened. Or at least not in the same manner.

The only way he could feel confident about any assumption in that area would be if he knew what Sylar's original ability was and how he took on new powers. If his original ability was a perversion of Peter's, and its only use was the collection of other abilities, then maybe there was a certain inevitability to it all. Perhaps Gabriel Gray had simply needed time and the right motivation to go from seemingly innocent watchmaker to homicidal maniac. On the other hand, if his ability was something else entirely… but Mohinder couldn't even begin to imagine what that might be.

So what did he know?

To all accounts Gabriel Gray had been a meticulous man with a thirst for knowledge and a few obsessive tendencies. Mohinder had been in his apartment before it had been cleaned out. (Did Sylar know who it was that had broken in?) The shelves had been stuffed to overflowing with books on a myriad of different topics. Not to mention the medical texts left open to detailed photos of brain dissections.

_Hmmm… now there's something I never properly considered._

It was one of very few real clues as to what he did with the brains of his victims. Sylar had intimated that Mohinder should be able to puzzle out that particular riddle on his own, so what were the facts? Despite the popular, gruesome opinion, Sylar didn't eat the brains of his victims. That he had managed to take Nathan's ability while leaving his brain intact was proof of that. So what had he done instead? Mohinder hadn't had the luxury of hanging around to inspect Sylar's gruesome handiwork, but the options were limited if he could do what he needed to do while the brain was still in the victim's head.

_He couldn't have done more than look at it… Is that it? He can take on another's ability just by studying their brains? How is that possible? It doesn't make sense that he would develop an ability that's sole purpose is to assume powers by looking at the brain. How would he know to use it in the first place? If-_

Mohinder's thoughts were rudely disrupted by the insistent beeping of the centrifuge. He paced over to the machine, removed the vials contained within and set back to work. He chewed absently on his bottom lip as he peered at their contents, wincing as he hit the fresh scab.

His few answers only bred more questions. He felt like he was so close to the ultimate solution, but it was just beyond his reach. Sylar's original ability was such a tantalizing enigma. Mohinder couldn't help but think that if only he could figure out what it was, he'd have the key to understanding the man. Maybe he'd be able to understand why Sylar had started killing in the first place and then, then maybe Mohinder could convince him to stop.

-------------

Ando Masahashi sighed as he stared at the familiar door in front of him. This couldn't continue any longer, something had to be done, but so far all his attempts had been woefully unsuccessful. His best friend had finally returned, only to retreat into himself.

Ando had never seen Hiro in such a bad state. At first he thought that maybe Hiro just needed some time to rest and recover. Ando had waited for four months in relative boredom for Hiro to return, but Hiro's adventure hadn't stopped. After all they'd been through to stop the bomb and save the world, Hiro had ended up trapped in the past and facing even more challenges.

Ando's joy at his friend's return had been short lived. Though Hiro claimed he had achieved vengeance for his father's death, there had been a pained look that accompanied that declaration. Hiro had refused to talk about it and for a while Ando had left him alone to rest. Now though, it had been days. As far as Ando could tell Hiro was so depressed that he was rarely even leaving his bed.

Ando had tried to get to the root of the problem, to find out what had happened, but his normally chatty friend refused to talk about it. He did get the occasional clue though. So far he had managed to establish that Hiro had found the man who murdered his father and carried out a punishment that had seemed fitting at the time. Whatever it was, it seemed that the knowledge of what he'd done was eating Hiro up inside. It was slowly tearing him apart and none of Ando's efforts thus far had garnered any success. It was getting so bad that Ando was becoming genuinely afraid for Hiro's health. He'd promised himself that if he couldn't get through to Hiro today, he'd let Kimiko know what had happened to her brother. Ando was sure that she would know what to do, how to help.

With another deep sigh, Ando rapped loudly on the door.

"Hiro-kun!"

-------------

Mohinder climbed out of the cab he'd arrived in, paid his fare and turned to face his destination with a sigh. He was excited to see Molly again, especially since he didn't know when their next meeting might be, but otherwise he was dreading this dinner with every fiber in his body. This was definitely not the smartest idea he'd ever had.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to focus on Molly rather than his rising panic, and entered the restaurant.

It was a nice enough place. Nothing too fancy but at the same time not full of screaming kids either. The décor was eclectic and a little bizarre, Mohinder couldn't see any real pattern to it and yet it wasn't garish either. It seemed like someone had decided to have a lot of fun and thrown together the strangest assortment of knick-knacks and wall hangings they could find without becoming ridiculous. It was kind of charming, really, once the initial shock wore off.

"Mohinder!" Molly's excited cry captured his attention immediately. The little girl slid out of her booth seat and came charging towards him, just barely avoiding a collision with a server, and threw herself into Mohinder's arms. Mohinder gathered her up in a fierce hug, his worries momentarily forgotten as Molly wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him like she was afraid he might vanish at any moment.

"Molly, oh I've missed you!" Mohinder exclaimed, a wave of happiness rolling over him that soothed his agonized soul. He didn't know what he'd do without his precious little girl. He'd do absolutely anything to keep her safe and happy.

Mohinder put Molly back down with great reluctance, but they were blocking the path for others. Molly grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the booth where Matt was sitting waiting for them, a pleasant smile on his face. No sign of Peter yet, but that was fine, he had said that he might be a bit late.

"Mohinder, how are you?" Matt asked with genuine interest as Molly tugged Mohinder in to her side of the booth.

"I'm fine," he replied with a small shrug. "A little tired, but you know me." Matt cast him a dubious glance but nodded, deciding not to press the point. At least not in front of Molly.

Molly poured over her menu excitedly, occasionally tugging on Mohinder's sleeve to ask his opinion on meals and ingredients she didn't recognize. With still no sign of Peter, they went ahead and ordered. Conversation was pleasant and lighthearted. Mohinder couldn't help being affected by Molly's exuberance and energy. He was so pleased that she didn't seem any worse off for her recent experiences that he found his troubles quickly receding to the back of his mind.

He questioned Molly about how she was doing on catching up with her schoolwork and how things were going with her friends. It was a small mercy that Matt had managed to arrange for her to stay in the same school. Mohinder was grateful that there was at least one point in her life that was still stable.

The only really awkward moment came when Molly, pouting adorably, asked when Mohinder would be joining them in their new place. She told him how much she missed him and complained about Matt's cooking with more mischief than malice.

Mohinder didn't miss Matt's serious expression when the topic came up, but he kept his focus on Molly. He told her that work was keeping him busy and that he didn't know when he'd be able to come back to live with them, but that he hoped it would be soon.

In all honesty he didn't have a clue when that might be and he forced himself not to think about all the reasons why he might have to stay away from this wonderful little girl that had ensnared his heart.

Mohinder was determined not to let Matt pick up any stray thoughts concerning Sylar. They'd previously discussed his return and Mohinder had mentioned briefly on the phone that it would be safer for everyone if he lived elsewhere for the time being. He was sure that Matt wanted to know more, but neither of them was going to bring up the topic of Sylar in front of Molly. Knowing that the man that had brutally murdered her parents was still alive, still out there, was upsetting enough without actively discussing him in her presence.

Peter arrived shortly before the food did with a strained smile and a heartfelt apology.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, but there was something that I had to take care of," he supplied cryptically. Matt offered his hand, which Peter shook kindly. He offered Mohinder another almost pained smile before he took the empty seat next to Matt and focused his attention on the curious little girl beside Mohinder.

"Hello there, you must be Miss Molly." The warm grin of a person who loves children lit onto Peter's face. To Mohinder it was a welcome reprieve, the strained smiles that had started the meeting were more than a touch unsettling.

"You're the one who fought the Boogieman.." Molly exhaled in something between cautious fear and awe. "The exploding man."

Peter winced visibly at the last statement and he stared at the table as he tried to push those resurgent memories away.

"Molly this is Peter, Peter Petrelli." Mohinder explained, putting a soothing hand on her shoulder. "He's a friend." Ever the smart girl, Molly frowned as she took in the pained expression on Peter's face and knew what she'd done wrong.

"I'm sorry." She offered softly. "I know you didn't want to explode. Were you sick, like me? Is that why your powers didn't work right?"

"Molly, I don't think-" Matt started, only to be cut off by Peter raising a hand.

"No, its ok." He assured, furrowing his brow pensively for a moment. "I wasn't sick, Molly. Well, not like a real illness. See, I had a lot of different changes happen to me all at once and it was too much for me to handle. So in a way my ability was making me sick."

Mohinder quirked an eyebrow at that. It sounded like Peter had made some real progress in understanding his abilities. Suddenly Mohinder wished that he wasn't so uncomfortable around Peter at the moment. He'd love to pick the other man's brain and find out how far this new understanding had progressed. The one attempt he'd made to pick Sylar's brain about his abilities had been swiftly shut down. How Sylar gained new powers was a bigger mystery, but Peter was only a slightly smaller one.

_Bastard just wanted to watch me squirm. I wonder if he really thinks I can figure it out for myself? Hard to say, but I'd bet he just brushed the subject off because he couldn't wait to get into my pants._

Mohinder was jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of Matt choking on his coffee.

_ohshitohshitohshitohshit_

Innocent thoughts about Peter's ability had devolved into something much less innocent and now Matt…

Peter, seemingly oblivious, patted Matt on the back as the cop coughed up the last of the coffee that had become lodged in his lungs. Molly was saying something but it didn't really register with Mohinder. His face rapidly colouring with a flush of embarrassment and he was seriously considering fleeing to the bathroom or outdoors for some fresh air and privacy when their server suddenly arrived with their orders.

Food served as an excellent distraction and Peter took the opportunity to order something small for himself. Soon everyone was munching away and the moment seemed to have passed. Matt was shooting Mohinder the occasional glance, his expression unreadable, but Mohinder did his best to ignore him. There really wasn't much else he could do and whatever Matt had overheard and inferred from that breach of privacy, it wasn't something he would bring up in front of Molly at the very least. Mohinder couldn't panic now, he had to clamp down on his thoughts and block the two across the table out.

Peter sipped the coffee that swiftly arrived for him and, quite unaware of the sudden awkwardness, turned back to his conversation with Molly.

"Have you ever had trouble controlling your ability?" Peter asked. Molly grinned around a mouthful of wedge-fry and shook her head as she swallowed.

"Only when I was sick and then it just didn't work." She answered with a shrug. "Its changed over time though."

"Really?" Peter leaned forward, "can I ask how?"

"Well…" Molly dipped a fry absently in some ketchup, "at first I could only find people using my maps. I'd think about them and my hands would move on their own, but the rest was just sorta hazy. Now when I look for someone I can sometimes see them, what's around them, what they're doing. I don't like it very much though, sometimes, it feels like spying on them." She popped the fry into her mouth and gave another small shrug. Mohinder wrapped an arm around her and gave her shoulders a small squeeze. Molly leaned into the hug, resting happily against Mohinder's side.

"So what can you do Peter?" Molly asked curiously. "Something other than- um…"

"Exploding?" Peter supplied dryly. Molly nodded as she gave Mohinder's waist a squeeze before returning to her meal. "Well… basically whenever I meet someone with an ability I absorb it and then I can use it myself."

"Really?" Molly's eyes widened and she shifted nervously in her seat, "but, not like…"

Peter looked confused for a moment, but Mohinder quickly place a comforting hand onto Molly's back.

"Peter picks up new abilities just by being near people with them," Mohinder explained soothingly.

"With sometimes painful consequences," Matt chimed in ruefully. "My head has never hurt so much as when I first tried to read your mind." The comment prompted a series of chuckles from the others and conversation quickly took off into the pleasures and pitfalls of having abilities. Mohinder breaking in every now and then to ask something obscenely scientific, usually prompting a chorus of groans.

By the end of the evening Mohinder was feeling happier and more relaxed then he had in days. Molly's bright smile never failed to fill his heart with joy. Every now and then Peter or Matt would give him an odd look, but Mohinder did his best to ignore them. He couldn't change what he might have already let slip, and somewhere along the line he'd resolved to focus on Molly and just enjoy himself.

When the four finally left the restaurant Matt and Peter shuffled over to one side, ostensibly to give Mohinder a chance to say a proper goodbye to Molly. Mohinder crouched down so that he was eye level with his darling adoptive daughter.

"So you behave yourself for Matt, ok?" He told her with a wry smile, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Molly nodded slightly, her lips tugged into a pout, her eyes cast downwards.

"When will I see you again?" She sniffled sadly and Mohinder's heart nearly cracked in two right then and there. He pulled her into a tight hug, clinging to her tiny frame.

"I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "Soon though, I promise."

Molly nodded, sniffling a little more and Mohinder pulled back to look her in the eye. A lone tear trickled down her cheek and Mohinder reached forward to brush it away with the pad of his thumb.

"Hey, don't cry. Things will be back to normal soon." He reassured her, trying to convince himself that it wasn't all a lie. With Sylar in the mix, there really wasn't any way to safely judge what the future might hold.

"I'm afraid for you Mohinder," Molly whispered. "What if the Boogieman comes back?"

Mohinder put on his bravest face before resting both of his hands on Molly's shoulders. He hadn't wanted to bring this up, but since she had, it might be the only way to reassure her.

"You know how Peter has all these different abilities?" He asked softly. Molly nodded slowly. "Well now he has yours too, and he's going to use it to find the Boogieman and stop him from hurting anyone else. OK?"

Molly craned her head around to look over at Peter for a long moment before returning her gaze to Mohinder.

"I like him," she declared thoughtfully.

Mohinder smiled fondly lowering his hands to take Molly's small ones into his own.

"Me too," he agreed softly before taking a deep breath. _Now or never._ "Listen. I want to ask you a question but you don't have to answer if you don't want to. Its ok if you can't." Molly nodded hesitantly, hair spilling over her ears to fall in front of her face once more.

"Your father… he had an ability too," he began hesitantly. "Do you know what it was?"

Molly was silent for a long moment as she stared at her feet. Mohinder instantly regretted bringing it up. He should have just made do without the answer, it wasn't worth upsetting his precious girl over.

"He was like me," Molly answered suddenly. She brought her eyes up to meet Mohinder's once more and instead of being full of loss and agony, they were bright and strong. "It was different though. He didn't use maps, and the Boogieman won't able to use it."

"Why not?" That hadn't been what Sylar had suggested to him.

"Because Daddy was only ever able to use it to find Mom, or me if I got lost," she explained with a soft smile. "I asked him once why he couldn't use it to find other people and he told me that he could only use it to find people that he was connected to. Right here." Molly reached out a small hand and placed it flat on the left side of Mohinder's chest, right above his heart.

-------------

Sylar closed the small locker door and turned the tiny metal key. He hated leaving his file in a public place but the only other option was to carry it with him and that was, for the moment, out of the question. On the off chance that something went wrong he didn't want to hand all that detailed personal information over to his enemies. No, this small storage locker would do for now. He'd paid for a week's use, which was 6 days more than he expected to need it for, but better to be safe than sorry.

Pocketing the key, Sylar pulled out his brand new map of Tokyo and stepped outside to get his bearings. He was so close now, he could practically taste it. This strange, foreign country was a tantalizing distraction, but he was too near to his goal to indulge in sightseeing. Hiro Nakamura and his amazing ability were nearly within his grasp, and nothing would stop him now.

-------------

Peter and Mohinder traveled straight back to Mohinder's apartment and set to work right away. Mohinder forced his mind to stay blank as he rummaged through Molly's old room while Peter paced back and forth near the doorway. The plan was for Peter to search for Sylar immediately, but he wasn't to act unless they knew for certain either who Sylar's target was, or that he was rapidly closing in on one. Otherwise, Peter was going to wait for Bennet to contact him and then they were going to go off and do whatever it was Bennet wanted to do.

Mohinder really didn't want to know what Bennet had in mind. He truly just didn't want to be involved. He was having a hard enough time with things as they were. He was occupied well enough by the task of keeping his brain from doing any processing, right now any in-depth thought would likely be a dead giveaway. Though from the looks Peter had been 'discreetly' shooting him on the ride over, Petrelli knew something was up.

"Ok, here they are. Molly's old maps." Mohinder declared finally, bringing the stack of maps in various shapes, sizes and forms over to the kitchen table along with a small case of pushpins. "You know what to do?"

"Pretty sure," Peter answered as he pulled out a pushpin and spread the maps across the table. "Just concentrate on who I'm trying to find, right?"

Mohinder nodded and slid into one of the empty chairs as Peter closed his eyes, scrunching up his brow in concentration. For several seconds there was silence while Peter remained completely motionless. Mohinder was about to ask if something was wrong when Peter's hands started moving, opening one of the maps and flipping through the pages. Mohinder stayed silent, watching the pages go by, a growing knot of concern building in his stomach as Peter moved closer and closer to his destination.

Finally the empath stopped turning the pages, the hand with the pushpin hovering hesitantly back and forth over the opened map as if he was having trouble zeroing in. It was taking much longer than it would have for Molly, but that was to be expected, really. Mohinder held his breath, refraining from blurting out the name now suddenly on the tip of his tongue. Until finally Peter found his mark and opened his eyes.

"Tokyo, Japan…" Peter half choked out, jaw dropping as he stared at where the pin was located.

"He's gone after Hiro."

-------------

Sylar slipped cautiously past the security guard in the apartment building's lobby. He was taking every precaution with this one. Stealth was of the utmost importance. If he didn't catch the teleporter off guard Sylar knew that he could be in big trouble. He definitely did not plan on getting up close and personal with the business end of a katana ever again.

He rode the elevator invisibly up to the right floor, steadying his breath, going over his plan in his mind: figure out where Nakamura is and knock him unconscious before he even has a chance to realize he's in danger. It sounded simple enough. When the elevator doors slid open on the correct floor, Sylar couldn't restrain a bloodthirsty grin. He supposed he would have scared the hell out of the young couple making their way into his recently vacated elevator if he hadn't been bending the light to keep his presence hidden.

As silently as possible, Sylar approached the apartment number listed in the file, pressing against the wall by the door and opening up his hearing. Tokyo was an obscenely loud city and since arriving he had clamped down on that particular talent as tightly as possible. His super hearing had always been one of the hardest abilities to control and it took a delicate touch to get it just right. At first the sounds of all the tenants in the building threatened to overwhelm him, but in short order he had what he wanted.

There were two voices coming from Hiro Nakamura's apartment, and they were arguing.

"-and I'll apologize later but we need to go, NOW." Sylar frowned, he knew that voice. What was more, it was English being spoken.

"What? Why?"

"Sylar's here, now. He's coming to _kill_ you!" It was Peter Petrelli's voice. Sylar could have screamed with rage.

"Sylar's ALIVE?"

"No time!"

Sylar ripped the door off its hinges, sending it flying through the room straight at the source of the two voices. The wooden door smashed into the opposite wall, destroying a rack of shelving and showering the room in miscellaneous debris.

Otherwise, the apartment was empty.

A howl of pure fury ripped itself from Sylar's throat. He stormed into the empty apartment, head whipping back and forth as if a second inspection might prove his first wrong. Random objects ripped themselves off shelves and walls, either smashing into offending surfaces or simply shattering outright. Sylar clenched his fists so tightly that he could feel blood running down his palms and he didn't give a damn.

Peter Petrelli, here in Japan, ruining his plans AGAIN. Plague or no plague, if Sylar could have gotten his hands on Petrelli right then and there he would have split his skull open in an instant, without hesitation.

The floor beneath Sylar's feet crackled and groaned as ice spread out from where he was standing. The urge to destroy was absolutely overwhelming. All that time, all that preparation, only to be thwarted by that pathetic sponge once more!

_Oh no, I'm not going to rip his head off the moment I see him. Its going to be slow. He's going to be begging for death by then end! He'll wish-_

A ragged cry escaped from Sylar's lips, his eyes going wide as a sharp pain bloomed in his back. His entire body convulsed and he had just enough time to realize something was horribly wrong before his body hit the floor and he was plunged into darkness.

-------------

Adam lowered his taser and took a cautious step towards the tall man now lying prone on the ground before him. It was definitely not Hiro, not by a long shot. Adam would have been highly frustrated if not for the all too clear evidence that he'd caught himself a prize that, while not as personally satisfying, could be highly useful indeed. He was highly impressed by how thoroughly Hiro's apartment had been torn to ribbons.

Adam flipped open his brand new disposable cellphone and hit the speed-dial.

"Here," the swift response was immensely satisfying.

"I'm not sure what happened to Hiro, but I've caught someone else instead." Adam explained evenly as he nudged the pale body at his feet carefully with the toe of his boot. "We'll stick with the plan for now. He's much bigger though, over six feet tall. So you'll have to up the dosage."

"No problem. I'll have it ready by the time you get down here."

As he snapped the phone shut, a calculating grin settled onto Adam's ageless features. Revenge would have to wait, it seemed; but if this catch proved as useful as he hoped, it just might be worth it.


	13. New Realities

Colours danced like fireflies; weaving in and out, back and forth; shifting through the visible spectrum. It was soothing, hypnotizing, captivating; at least, until the pain kicked in. A splitting headache threatened to rip his head in two and the dancing lights went from pleasant to disorienting and nauseating.

Sylar groaned, unable to stop the sound from escaping his lips as he tried to pry his eyes open. He felt heavy and light all at the same time, floating but unable to move properly, almost like he was underwater. Whatever had happened to him wasn't good. He concentrated on willing the world to stop spinning so that he could evaluate the situation, find out exactly what was going on.

"Adam, he's awake," a female voice spoke. Sylar couldn't make out an accent, but there was something off about it.

"Ah, excellent!" The second voice was male with a very distinct British accent. "You know what to do."

"Are you sure about this? If he's as dangerous as you think…"

The voices grew more distant, muffled. Sylar still couldn't see straight, so he tried to focus his hearing instead. He reached for that control that came so easy to him and felt like he was trying to hold on to a wet bar of soap. He knew what he had to do but when he tried to get a hold of the metaphorical switch he slipped and fumbled. His mind was a fuzzy blur.

_Drugs, I've been drugged._

Not a pleasant turn of events but one he'd dealt with successfully twice before. This felt more like the first time but not identical. There had been an initially unforeseen consequence of one of his earliest additions. The ability that had allowed him to fake his own death and escape from the Company's clutches was, in its purest form, a way of consciously controlling certain bodily functions. Between that and his own original ability he was able to control his own metabolism. He could speed it up and burn drugs easily out of his system. All he needed was the tiniest thread of control, just a small little nudge to set the ball rolling. It would be slow at first but as the effect of the drugs waned the process would rapidly grow faster.

Sylar tried to reach for his head, a reflexive reaction to another wave of pain, and met unexpected resistance. Well, admittedly not too surprising. Anyone willing to knock him out and drug him was going to keep him restrained. As his mind shook itself out of his sluggish stupor he abruptly realized that he shouldn't have any enemies herein Japan (Peter's confusing presence didn't count. This was definitely not his style). All his previous kills, with the exception of the two in Mexico, had been in the US.

That meant that, unless this was some random stranger (which was highly unlikely), it was either someone who knew Hiro or someone from the Company had managed to track him down. Did they operate internationally?

_They don't sound like Agents, but then again I've only met a couple…_

They had sounded like native English speakers. That almost certainly meant the Company…

As he finally managed to drag his eyes open, Sylar gave a quick tug on his restraints to test his mobility. He was sitting on a chair with his arms handcuffed behind his back. The chair had a semi open back and his arms were weaved through it so that he couldn't go anywhere without the chair in tow. Startlingly, though, that was it.

_Strange for someone to go to all this trouble and then expect a wooden chair and some handcuffs to keep me in line._

He looked up at the sudden sound of footsteps right in front of him and it was all he could do not to let his jaw drop open in shock. The man was the spitting image of the picture in Adam Monroe's file.

_Last seen with Hiro Nakamura indeed…_

Things were looking up.

Adam, meeting Sylar's still hazy gaze with a smile, sat down in an identical chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Welcome back, Mr. Sylar." The accent coupled by Adam calling him 'Mr. Sylar' evoked a poorly concealed wince. It was impossible to stop the rush of memories from the last time he had been drugged and strapped to a chair; Mohinder standing over him with that smug, vengeful glare. Sylar had to mentally slap himself to pull his head out of the past. Now was certainly not the time to reminisce.

"I apologize for the drugs. You're probably finding it a little tough to control much of anything right now; but even before I realized who you were, well, the way you ripped Hiro's loft to pieces was impressive enough to warrant precautions. This isn't what you might think though. In fact, I'd actually like to make you a proposal."

Sylar glared at the man, trying to connect to the speech center of his brain but having an inordinate amount of difficulty. If the drugs weren't messing with his head so much, he might have started to get worried.

"First though, you're probably wondering just who I am and how I know who _you_ are."

Sylar managed a small nod, though he guessed Petrelli had something to do with it. The Company file had said the two were working together. The more he could get Monroe to talk, the more time he would have to work the drugs out of his system. So far he wasn't having much luck. At least with the curare he'd been able to think straight; allowing him to find the hole in that cold, smothering blanket.

"Well I spent quite some time in the presence of one Peter Petrelli with nothing to do but talk. Not the brightest of sorts, but incredibly useful. So I've heard all about you. I could be wrong, of course, but you match the description and then there's the watch on your wrist."

Sylar waited for the inevitable crack about naming himself after a watch, but it never came. _Odd,_ he thought. _He must want me to do something for him. That I can _use.

"So Mr. Sylar, here's the situation. You've been pumped full of some powerful drugs, but their effects should be wearing off in a short while. At which point you're going to have to make a decision. We can discuss things like civilized beings, and I do believe that we can find ourselves a mutually beneficial agreement; or you can try to attack me, and discover that my partner," at this point Adam gestured to the only window in this odd cement and steel room. The source of the female voice graced them both with a brief wave before vanishing from sight, "is sitting on the button that will flood this room with a gas that will knock us both out in seconds. I can't say I'd be too pleased with that option. I'm rather hoping I don't have to decide what to do with you after that. It would be a terrible waste."

Sylar listened silently, not letting his glare slip but working on lacing a layer of utter boredom underneath. Control was slowly creeping back into his hands. His mind was fuzzy around the edges, but the sensation was receding with acceptable speed. He was fairly certain that he had regained enough control of faculties to speak again but debated which approach to take. He considered the man before him, evaluating what a four hundred year old man valued the most, and what his weaknesses might be. He was getting inklings, impressions of how Monroe was put together, but he couldn't be sure yet.

Still, it only took a few moments for him to decide on the best course of action. Sylar was fairly certain that denying his identity would be a step in the wrong direction. So instead he decided on a show of the power, of knowledge, equal to the one that had just been dangled in front of him.

"Adam Monroe," he greeted with amusement. "What a _pleasure_ to finally meet you, though I can't say I'm a fan of the circumstances."

Monroe's face flashed with visible shock. He recovered quickly though, seemingly consumed by curiosity. He was so open with his expressions that Sylar was instantly suspicious of it. He was either an idiot or he was trying to manipulate Sylar somehow.

"Now just how _do_ youknow my name?"

"I know a lot of things that might surprise you." Sylar countered with a shrug. There was no way he was going to be tricked into showing his hand this early in the game.

"I think I just might believe you about that, Mr. Sylar." Adam conceded graciously. "Hmmm… Peter said you were dangerous, and I have no doubt that you are, but he never mentioned that you're a clever one too."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Adam." Sylar was surprised by how amused he was by the whole situation. Monroe was probably very good at getting what he wanted, but even Gabriel had been good at reading people and since Sylar's ability had awakened he'd become a master of it.

He couldn't help thinking again of the last time he was drugged and bound to a chair, similar and yet so different. Mohinder had been all fire and emotion. It had taken absolutely everything Sylar had to talk him out of pulling that trigger. This was a walk in the park by comparison. Monroe didn't _want_ him dead, not yet at least, which was a truly pleasant change.

"Can't blame me for trying though," Adam smiled and leaned back in his seat. "Alright, forget the games then. Let's get straight to the point. I need muscle and you need resources. Right now you've got to be ducking the cops, but more importantly I'm sure you're on the Company's radar. If you know who I am, you should know who they are."

Sylar nodded once, fighting the reflexive expression of disgust at the mention of the Company. No need to give this man any more power.

"You can outrun the police forever, but the Company knows what they're up against. Eventually they will find a way to take you down. Unless," he smiled conspiratorially, "they're on your side."

That got Sylar's attention, though there was only a flicker in his eyes to betray it.

"Planning a takeover are we?" He returned with mild amusement.

"Call it Reclamation. I'm only taking back what was mine to begin with. I've already had 10 of the 12 so-called Founders eliminated. Take out the last two and as long as I'm there to seize the reigns no one will challenge me. I'm in charge and you're left alone."

Sylar sat in silence, pondering Adam's proposal. There was a certain appeal to it. If he could trust the man to keep his word it would make his life much easier. With the Company off his back all he'd have to worry about would be Petrelli and his band of do-gooders. Still, there were a lot of reasons not to go along with it as well.

"The people I'd like you to kill for me both have abilities of their own. One of them could be extremely dangerous to go after unprepared." Adam continued, apparently determining that Sylar needed more convincing. "I'd be willing to point you in the direction of some other highly useful targets. Some of them are even gift wrapped and waiting for you in the Company cells. Naturally there are some that have been or would become my allies whom I'll need to keep around, but I assure you that you won't be disappointed."

Sylar let a feral grin grace his lips as he decided that he had heard enough. With a simple thought the cuffs on his wrists melted and pooled into a puddle of molten silver. Sylar stood, facing a startled Adam. Not shocked or terrified, just surprised. Clearly he was still underestimating Sylar's capabilities.

"I'm impressed. It should have taken twice that time for your abilities to return." Adam rose to his feet as well as he watched Sylar slowly circle the room, grin still plastered to his lips.

"Oh you'll find I'm full of surprises." Sylar replied with amusement. He was focusing his hearing to find the right wall.

"So do we have a deal then?"

Sylar paused, laying a hand thoughtfully on the concrete wall before turning to lock gazes with Adam once more.

"I'll admit that I do have people to kill in the Company. I wouldn't be surprised if there was some overlap. I'll even admit that I do find the idea of having an ally take over to be appealing." He caressed the concrete in a faintly disturbing imitation of affection, "Except there are two problems. One: I don't know that you'll stay true to your word. Even if I could, I also happen to know that you have a habit of trying to release deadly viruses. Two: you have that absolutely irresistible ability. Immortality! How could I possibly let that slip through my grasp? It would have to be one hell of a deal."

In a flash, telekinetic force backing up a controlled nuclear burst smashed through the wall where Sylar was touching it; destroying an almost man-sized section of wall in the blink of an eye.

"Now that we have some ventilation going," Sylar continued with a smile as the dust settled. "I think its time to draw up some new terms."

Mohinder rubbed his tired eyes with irritation and tried to force himself to focus on the laptop that lay open in front of him. It had been three hours since Peter had vanished to rescue Hiro and there was still no sign of either man. If he hadn't been so used to dealing with high stress situations, Mohinder would have been panicking by now.

Instead, he was doing his best to distract himself and not focus on the most likely of explanations, being that Sylar had killed them both. No, hopefully Sylar valued his own life enough that he wouldn't kill Peter. Something else must have happened. If not, then the research he couldn't concentrate on would be more important than ever.

It had been a hellishly long day for Mohinder, and he should have gone to bed hours ago, but he didn't want to be sleeping if Peter suddenly reappeared in need of help. He didn't think he could sleep through the worry anyway, though sheer physical exhaustion might not give him a choice if this continued on for much longer. Mental exhaustion wasn't far behind either.

Mohinder stared at the latest test results on Peter's blood in something near exasperation. This virus didn't make any sense at all. It hardly even looked like a virus, and it certainly wasn't behaving like one. This pathogen could be alien in origin for all he could make heads or tails of it and if he didn't make some sort of headway soon he was going to need to find help. It was a situation that he had been hoping to avoid like the plague he was trying to prevent.

At three o'clock in the morning, it all seemed rather hopeless.

Mohinder stretched out, letting a long yawn escape before staring at his empty cup of tea. Nothing like a little caffeine to keep him going, he supposed. He stood sleepily, pacing over to plug the kettle in. His entire body ached and he knew that he should get some rest. His body needed it, he was stressed out and there was nothing he could do but wait. At least the wait would be easier asleep.

"So, what, you're going to cut me open?"

Mohinder moved faster than he would have believed possible, as tired as he was, whirling towards the source of an impossible voice, Sylar's voice. The sight that lay before him froze Mohinder in place. A mixture of fear, grief and incredulity coursed through his frame in an instant. His apartment had changed, looking more like it had when Mohinder had first arrived from Madras in search of answers. Even more impossibly, his father sat at the dining table across from Sylar. Only it was Sylar in a way Mohinder had never seen him before.

"I'd like to run some tests. EEG, EKG, nothing invasive. A friend at Columbia has access to an MRI."

This couldn't be real. It was utterly impossible, and yet… The explanation sank in as his mind continued to reel. He was dreaming, had to be. Only it was of things he couldn't possibly know, with a clarity that no normal dream could ever possess. He'd only experienced this once before, back in India. This was Sanjog's ability at work.

"Mapping the brain."

His father looked the same as he ever had; drinking tea with the man who would eventually end his life. Sylar -or Gabriel, Mohinder supposed- on the other hand, looked almost like a different man.On the surface, it wasn't hard to see why Sylar viewed his past self as another person entirely. Gabriel was dressed in a dark sweater over a sweater-vest with a hint of a white shirt underneath. He had on thick glasses and his hair was perfectly slicked and combed off to the side. His shoulders were hunched in a manner that had the name Zane echoing in Mohinder's head and he spoke with an almost giddy eagerness; but the intensity in his eyes, that was all too much like the Sylar he knew. If Mohinder hadn't witnessed a resurrection and seen a man exploding in the sky above New York, he would have said it was the strangest thing he'd ever seen. Strange had taken on a whole new meaning in his life, but at the very least this was disconcertingly surreal.

"Measuring Alpha waves, resting rates, neuron clusters. The brain controls every human action, voluntary or involuntary; every breath, every heartbeat, every emotion. If the soul exists, scientifically speaking, it exists in the brain."

It was a view on life and philosophy that Chandra had never shared with his son. They'd never had a relaxed moment together; always some sort of tension or strife between them. There was an ache in Mohinder's chest. He'd always known that, to some extent, Sylar's harsh words had been right; but seeing his father bonding more easily with a man he barely knew than with his own son evoked sharp echoes of old pain.

Gabriel laughed; relaxed, happy.

"When I was a kid, I used to wish some stranger would come and tell me my family wasn't really my family. They weren't bad people, they were just… insignificant, and I wanted to be different -special- I wanted to change. A new name, a new life." Gabriel paused, his intensity fading into something more normal. "The Watchmaker's Son… became a Watchmaker. It is _so_ futile. I wanted to be… important."

"You are important Gabriel."

"What do you think my abilities might be?" The eagerness again, and Mohinder could see just how desperately Gabriel must have clung to every word Chandra spoke.

The scene shifted, blurred. The lighting dimmed and Mohinder felt a wave of disorientation before the new scene settled into place. It was his father and Gabriel again, this time running tests. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but from the change of clothes Mohinder knew that at the very least it wasn't the same day.

"Why do you repair watches Gabriel?"

Gabriel sighed, "My father didn't really give me a choice."

"Yes but why not do what you want to do? Why not change?"

Gabriel withdrew for a moment before a thought seemed to hit him, and that eagerness that Mohinder associated with Zane was back again.

"You use a phrase in your book: Evolutionary Imperative."

"That which we are destined to do."

"Sea turtles die on the same exact beach where they were born. Lions _slaughter_ gazelles. Spiders eat their young. They don't want to, they have to."

Chandra took another look at the monitor and sighed.

"Well, the good news is: you're healthy."

"What, you mean n-normal? What, there's still no signs?"

"No."

_No?_ His father hadn't seen it? Hadn't found it?

"Well, maybe tomorrow. We're still going to the CT scan right?"

"I think we should prepare for the possibility that… I may have been wrong. You may not have a special ability."

Gabriel stood, "I am so close. I can _feel_ it." Chandra shook his head, started to reply but Gabriel cut him off. "You came to _me._ I am _on_ your list."

"These tests aren't one hundred percent."

"Don't give up on me." Gabriel voice was so desperate, pleading.

"There are other opportunities I need to focus on."

Mohinder winced at his father's reply. Gabriel was clearly already unstable to begin with. He was so obviously desperate for validation, approval, assurance that he was worth something. Chandra couldn't have picked a worse reply and Gabriel reacted as Mohinder would have expected even if he hadn't known who Gabriel would eventually become.

"What like these people, huh?" Gabriel grabbed a stack of folders off the table, growing hurt and anger evident in his voice. "They're important? This guy, Brian Davis, you think he's telekinetic? Move things with his mind. Are you just going to toss him aside too?!" Gabriel threw the folders across the room, seething, and Mohinder closed his eyes as Chandra asked Gabriel to leave and Gabriel proceeded to storm out. Brian Davis, he must have been Sylar's first victim, the source of his prized telekinesis. If only Chandra hadn't so callously rejected Gabriel, maybe that man would have lived.

The world shimmered and rippled, darkened even more, and the scene that unfolded was far more familiar.

Sylar stepped out of his motel room, hunched against the cold, and Mohinder had no problem working out when this moment had occurred. It was the motel they had stayed at the night before finding Dale's body.

Sylar closed the door to his room and took a step towards the parking lot before stopping in his tracks. He remained motionless for a long moment before turning to look at the door to the room next to his. Mohinder knew that he must have been deeply asleep at this point; blissfully unaware that he had just led a serial killer to his next victim. He stood and watched now in silence, the sting of the betrayal, of his own monumental stupidity stung in his chest.

"Why this moment?" Mohinder asked aloud. He wasn't really expecting Sanjog to appear and reply, but the words were out of his mouth before he could consider the logic of it.

Sylar continued to stare at Mohinder's door for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Several minutes, at least, must have passed before he took a step _towards_ the door, brushing a hand up against the painted wood. Sylar let out a deep sigh, leaning his side up against the door, his intense gaze falling away to reveal something Mohinder had never seen in him before: sadness. It was a display of weakness that Sylar would never, ever let anyone see, and Mohinder couldn't tear his eyes away. Sylar raised a hand, curled into a fist as if he was about to knock, only to jerk to a halt a mere inch from the door.

"No," Sylar's voice was so soft that Mohinder nearly didn't hear the whispered word. "When he finds out… he'll hate me."

Just like that, Sylar stood up straight, shaking off his melancholy. His posture straightened and his entire demeanor changed to the far more familiar, predatory one. The scene dissolved as Sylar stalked off, presumably to visit Dale's garage.

Mohinder watched in silence, and couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if Sylar had knocked on his door that night. Whether Dale might have survived, or if her fate had been sealed the moment Sylar had laid eyes on her.

He was getting used to the shifts in perspective now, but Mohinder wasn't at all prepared for the next scene that unfolded before him. The room was the one in which his lab would eventually be built. Issac Mendez's loft was filled with scattered paintings that Mohinder had heard about but never had the chance to see. Under any other circumstances he might have been entranced by them, distracted, but right at that moment they were wholly unimportant.

Four gruesome paintings in black and crimson framed the reality spread out before them. Issac Mendez, pinned to the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood. It was one thing to know that he worked every day where the man had been murdered, but it was quite another to actually see it first hand.

Speaking of Sylar, Mohinder wasn't surprised to note that he was in the room too. Each one of these glimpses into the past had been surrounding him, after all. As distracting as the evidence of what Sylar was truly capable of was, Mohinder forced himself to concentrate on the killer himself. It helped that he couldn't smell anything here.

"I can hear you dialing 911. It was a mistake to call." Sylar's voice, his inflections and the emotion buried beneath the surface were exactly as Mohinder remembered them. He'd replayed that phone conversation over and over in his head so many times after Kirby plaza. He'd tried to imagine how things might have gone differently if he hadn't foolishly dialed 911 for help. What could police officers have done anyway but get themselves killed? Mohinder could admit it, hearing Sylar's voice again had caused him to panic. He wasn't sure what he should have done, if anything could have stopped what had happened, but the question had preyed on his mind for a long time. Up until Matt, having moved in just the week before, complained of how obsessive and repetitive his thoughts were.

Sylar stared at the phone in silence for a long moment before crouching down by the mural on the floor of the bomb exploding over New York.

"Why?" He muttered to himself, "Why would I do it? It doesn't make any sense…"

Sylar continued to stare for several long seconds before rising to his feet. Arms crossed, hand clenching the phone so tightly that his knuckles were turning white; Sylar began to pace back and forth across the room. Mohinder didn't think that he could regret his actions more until this moment. Sylar was _genuinely_ worried. The idea of killing all those people truly bothered him.

While Mohinder was lost in his thoughts, mind whirring to process certain uncomfortable newfound truths, Sylar had come to a decision. Mohinder's eyes shot back across the room to him as Sylar dialed the last few numbers.

"Hi mom, it's me." A pause. "I know. I know it's been a while but I've been thinking about things, thinking about the future; my future." A deep breath and another pause. "I know its last minute, but if I could just come talk to you. Can I come over?" Longer pause. "Great. I'll see you soon."

As the scene blurred and shifted again, Mohinder felt his stomach clench painfully. He knew from reading Sylar's file what had happened to his mother, but he'd never considered that he'd gone to see her because the first person he'd reached out to for help had failed him. It felt like another murder Mohinder could have prevented, another life he could have saved.

The next scene to lay itself out before him was the most foreign to Mohinder's knowledge. Sylar was talking with an older woman who must have been his mother. He was dressed in the shirt and sweater-vest that Mohinder was starting to think had been the only style of clothing Gabriel had worn.

_He's wearing those glasses again… odd, I'm pretty sure he doesn't wear contacts now._

He was also, Mohinder noticed, wearing a coat that didn't belong to him.

_That's where it went… why would he steal my coat of all things?_

The apartment was awash in clutter. So very unlike the place Mohinder had broken into with Eden when Sylar was still a nebulous dark shadow, a faceless murderer.

Sylar had zeroed in on a broken clock and set about repairing it like it was a compulsion. Mohinder's eyes were glued to the scene. It was a pleasant change to see that obsessive concentration focused on something so harmless and productive. More surprisingly, despite all the disdain Sylar had shown for his previous life and career, while his full attention was on the delicate mechanism buried within he looked content, almost happy.

"I can't tell you how proud I am." Virginia Gray was a small woman, wiry and carrying a flustered air. She was petting her son like he was a precious pet rather than a grown man; hovering over him in a way that could easily become irritating, smothering.

Sylar scoffed gently, "I haven't done anything."

"You travel the world! Some of us only get to see it in snow globes."

_If only you knew what he did while he traveled…_

"I'm tired of traveling. I think I might stay here."

_What?_

"In _Queens_? Why would you ever come back?"

"If I stayed maybe I could stop… Maybe I wouldn't have to-" He broke off as he looked into his mother's eyes. It was an astounding, almost unbelievable admission –confession- and there was no way that woman could possibly understand its meaning.

"What?" His mother asked softly, "Gabriel!" She got up, starting to say something else when the scene shifted once more. Not as far this time, the change was faster.

The world resolved itself in the middle of a struggle. Both Sylar and his mother looked on the verge of tears. Clearly something had gone horribly wrong between then and now. Mrs. Gray grabbed a pair of scissors out of her knitting basket, pointing them at her son like she would stab him with them if he got too close. Sylar grabbed hold of her wrists, pulling the dangerous scissors up and out of the way. Harsh words were exchanged, but Sylar's face was a landscape of agony. He had tried to calm his hysterical mother down, but now things had spiraled out of control.

Mohinder winced and looked away as he heard the sound of torn flesh. It really was an accident. Sylar's look of utter horror as he stepped back and saw the scissors protruding from his mother's chest, blood seeping from the wound to soak into her shirt, was proof of that. Shock, disbelief, despair; all these things were splayed out across both faces before Mrs. Gray collapsed.

A half-cry had Mohinder nearly jumping out of his shoes. A blink of the eyes and Hiro was there, having swung his sword at Sylar and failed to land a blow. Sylar caught the blade easily, momentarily distracted from the horror that had just befallen him. Mohinder had to admire his reflexes.

"That heartbeat; you were in the loft, why are you following me?"

"I must stop you." It was the first really good look Mohinder had ever gotten of the time traveler. He looked so young, uncertain and afraid.

"Then do it." Sylar pulled the sword forward, placing it against his own neck. It was a move that shocked Hiro and Mohinder alike. "Do it! KILL ME!"

Hiro was trembling, unable to wrench the sword from Sylar's grip as a wave of cold harsh enough to freeze steel spread from his grip.

"You can't, you coward. Now I'm going to have to kill you."

"Hiro!" The newcomer wasn't someone Mohinder recognized. He must have been Hiro's friend though, because as he came bursting through the door Hiro grabbed a hold of his shoulder and both men vanished.

"Thank you for your help Sanjog. I can handle things from here."

Mohinder tore his eyes from the scene before him at the sound of a woman's voice. Where previously there had been the back of the apartment, there was now an odd, fuzzy empty space filled with just two people: Sanjog and a woman Mohinder had never seen before.

Sanjog nodded to the woman before turning to flash Mohinder a smile.

"Good luck." He intoned with a voice that had always felt a bit eerie to Mohinder. It spoke of wisdom beyond the boy's relative youth and he couldn't help wondering what horrors the boy had witnessed thanks to his ability.

Sanjog vanished into the increasing blur, and as he went a new reality snapped into place. Pristine, clear blue sky as far as the eyes could see met Mohinder's confused gaze. For the moment though, he wasn't interested in the scenery.

"Who are you?" He asked as politely as he could manage given his confusion. "What is this all about?"

The woman had been distracted by the change in scenery but now she focused her full attention on Mohinder. She was dressed simply in sneakers, jeans and a plain brown t-shirt. She was about Mohinder's height with a slim but well toned build; she looked like someone familiar with manual labour of some sort. Her red hair was tied back in a no-nonsense braid; her ovular face composed of a mixture of chiseled angles and smooth curves. Her eyes were what stood out the most. Not the colour -a muted shade of brown- but the sorrow they conveyed. They spoke of a life and experience that must have been anything but pleasant. They spoke of grief, and despair, but as she curled her lips into a small smile of greeting there was also the tiniest flicker of hope.

She took a few steps closer and extended her hand in greeting. For all that her eyes spoke of untold horrors there were no signs of external damage. No visible scars to tell of past events.

"Dr. Suresh," She greeted pleasantly. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Your journals brought to me a hope I never thought I'd find."

Mohinder clasped hands with this stranger more out of habit and common courtesy than anything else. Getting a visit from Sanjog was always a bit surreal, but this was just bloody confusing. His mind was still backed up trying to process what he had just seen and now he had to deal with this. It was all he could do to try and file this newfound plethora of information away for future consideration.

"I'm sorry, what journals?" He managed afterwards.

"Oh-" She paused for a moment, a faintly embarrassed look settling over her features. "Sorry, you haven't written them yet. I suppose you never will now, at least not under the same circumstances."

It was a testament to how crazy Mohinder's life had become that instead of blinking in confusion he managed to pull the pieces of this particular puzzle together right away.

"You're the one that saved Peter's life aren't you?" He deduced with a touch of awe, "the one from the future." If she was an Empath, like Sylar had claimed, then that explained how she'd stepped into this odd dream state that he'd previously only associated with Sanjog.

The woman nodded and turned away. Mohinder followed her silently to the edge of what he now realized was a roof. He watched her carefully as they reached the railing. The woman's eyes were full of nothing but sadness now.

"This is the world I come from," she explained mournfully. "The skies are cleaner then I once ever thought possible. Nature has rebounded, started its recovery, reclaiming the earth. It's a shame that something so right could only come from something so horribly wrong."

Mohinder turned to look out over the city stretched before him. He didn't recognize the skyline, or any landmarks, but it really didn't matter which city it was. Streets that should have been flooded with people were deserted and overrun with the green of grasses and the like that had started to take over. A few bits of litter tumbling down cracked and crumbling sidewalks were all that moved. There was some minor destruction in evidence, but nothing more than what a few looters, maybe just some poor souls trying to survive, might have inflicted.

"I already believed in what this virus was capable of, why show me this?" He asked softly. It was so quiet; that was the most unnatural part of it all. Silence reigned supreme; interrupted only by the gentle whistling of the wind and the occasional birdcall.

"I don't know if this can be stopped," she replied slowly, her gaze fixed on some point on the horizon. "It took a long time to find out how the virus was released. It was your writings that led me to the answer. So I traveled back to kill Sylar; the one biggest threat to Peter Petrelli's life. I never seriously believed that I could do more than delay the inevitable, give humanity a few more years. Some of the best minds in the world tried to find a cure and failed. A part of me hoped that they had just needed more time, but… well optimism is hard to find in a world like this."

She paused for a moment, chewing on her lower lip as her eyes darted from the skyline to Mohinder and back again.

"When Sylar fingered me as an Empath, like Peter, I agreed for simplicity's sake. The thing is, though, we're not quite the same. He absorbs abilities with much more ease and to a greater extent than I have ever been capable of. A- a friend of mine used to joke that I was the older model." She let out a huff of air and turned around to lean against the railing. "Thing is, while Peter quite readily absorbs the abilities of others, he also absorbs a bit more. At least, I'm pretty sure he does. It's probably not something he's noticed in himself yet, but for me it was the first thing. My talents work through touch; and while I have to struggle to strengthen the abilities I take on, I can quite easily Read people. Passively, it only gives me hints of their emotions, their personality, but over time I developed it into something much more. I can see who people are, and the past experiences that shaped them into what they've become."

"You used that ability on Sylar?" Mohinder questioned with intense curiosity.

"Yes," she nodded the affirmative before straightening. "He wasn't unconscious long enough for me to get more than a slice of the overall picture, but what I got nearly took my breath away. It's a bizarre twist of fate to say the least, but Sylar may be the only one who can save the world."


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Faster updates and more details at my fiction LJ (my website link). Enjoy. )

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Light splashed across Mohinder's face and he groaned in weary protest. However many hours of sleep he'd managed to accumulate, it clearly hadn't been enough. The sun's morning rays didn't seem to care about his lack of sleep. They ignored his feeble protests and continued to jab painfully at his eyelids until he was forced to take action.

Mohinder muttered a curse and rolled out of bed. His eyes were still stuck three-quarters shut with sleep as he stumbled clumsily across the cold floor. He reached the curtains and managed to tug them shut before collapsing back into his bed, but the damage was done. His mind had switched on and started to process what had happened the night before. There was no way he'd be getting back to sleep any time soon.

He let out a sigh and ran his hands through bed-messy curls. He didn't remember crawling into bed, let alone getting changed, but apparently he had at some point. He supposed he should be grateful. Through the years he'd fallen asleep sitting in all manner of chairs, and waking up afterwards had never been pleasant. They were times filled with aching muscles, odd cramps and the inevitable headache. Not to mention the lack of real, restful sleep.

A glance at the alarm clock blinking on his bedside table told Mohinder that it was 9:42am, and unless he'd slept more than 24 hours it was Sunday. As such, he was under no obligation to head to work (though his obsession with his research meant that it was always still an option). More importantly, there would be no harassment from Bob or anyone else at the Company. Unless there was some sort of emergency that require his attention, but if that happened Mohinder was pretty sure his head might just explode.

Though he'd never been particularly slothful, Mohinder was tempted to lie back down, pull the blankets over his head and escape into what he could only hope would be a dreamless sleep. Even after the super-sharp clarity of Sanjog's ability-induced dreams had faded away, and harbingers of an apocalyptic future had left him in peace, Mohinder's mind had whirred like mad. Though most of the true dreams had faded from his memory already, their intensity and the emotions they had provoked still lingered. Nothing specific, no one moment or feeling stood out. It was more like a whirlwind had stormed his mind and left chaos in its wake.

_Sylar._

The implications, the pieces of the puzzle that had snapped into place the instant the words had left Patricia's mouth, were enough to leave him weak in the knees. The potential compared with the reality, the paths that lay before them both. None of it would be in any way simple or easy. Mohinder wasn't sure that he had the strength to do what had been asked of him. This past week had upended his world entirely, and now? Now he was drowning in an endless ocean of possibilities. What he could do, what he should do, what he wanted to; he was supposed to be in control of these things, but the more that happened, the more he felt that control slipping away. What little he had left was filled with painful choices that caused Mohinder to question himself in ways he never could have imagined. Dealing with Bob, the Company, and all the deceit and moral ambiguity therein felt like a walk in the park compared with what he was facing now.

Still, there_ was_ hope. Molly's words echoed dangerously inside of Mohinder's skull. Hope could be a double-edge sword.

"Peter Petrelli, you have a lot of explaining to do."

Mohinder blinked at the sound of a thickly accented voice drifting in from the direction of his kitchen.

"I know Hiro," Peter's unmistakable voice sighed out. "God, I know."

Mohinder was back out of bed in a flash, now wide awake and utterly indifferent to his disheveled state of being. He must have made a fair amount of noise before he burst out of his bedroom and into the main room of his apartment, because Hiro and Peter had both already turned in his direction as he skidded into sight.

"Where have you _been_?!" It was the only thing Mohinder could think to say. He'd been practically making himself sick with worry before sleep had finally dragged him away.

Peter tossed him a confused look before he glanced out the window at the bright light of the new day. Understanding sunk into his features and his mouth dropped open into a small, almost inaudible 'oh…'

"I, er... must have time traveled on the way back." He admitted with embarrassment, curling into himself a little with shoulders hunched. "Sylar nearly hit us with the door to Hiro's apartment. I guess it messed with my concentration a bit."

"Have we met before?" Hiro asked abruptly before Mohinder could inquire further. "You seem very familiar."

It was then that Mohinder took in his current state of disarray. He needed a shower, shave, caffeine and a change of clothes rather desperately. The only consolation was that Hiro didn't seem in much better shape. Still, Hiro wasn't in his pajamas.

"Well I'm usually much more presentable than this," he replied sheepishly. "But I'm sure we've never met. Well, not properly. I was in Kirby plaza then night when- well, but I've heard all about you though, Mr. Nakamura." He offered his hand awkwardly, trying not to come across as a complete fool. "Mohinder Suresh."

Hiro took his hand and shook it with a growing enthusiasm, his eyes going wide with delight.

"No, I have met you before!" He declared with excitement. "In future that no longer exists! You look very different without glasses or beard, but I never forget that voice. You save my life!"

Despite what could only be described as waking up on the decidedly wrong side of the bed, Mohinder couldn't help but smile in amazement at the mere idea.

"I should very much like to hear all about it."

Hiro's excitement seemed to fade quickly though and he looked away off into a distant corner of the room.

"It was bad future," he muttered softly. "Filled with many bad things…"

The words trailed into silence and nothing rushed to fill in the gap. Mohinder was silently pondering whether to press further, to ask about Hiro's ability or address what had just happened with Sylar, when he noticed that Peter was staring at him. More specifically, he was trying to pretend like he wasn't staring at the undisguised blemish on Mohinder's neck and failing miserably at it. He did notice that Mohinder had noticed, however, and averted his gaze as Mohinder turned away to plug in the kettle, conveniently hiding the mark from sight for the moment.

"I should really get cleaned up," he said in an attempt to direct things in a more comfortable direction. "Would you like some tea? Something to eat? Although, you must be tired Peter. It must feel like it's somewhere around one in the morning to you right now."

Peter nodded slowly. "Ya, but too much adrenaline in the system, ya know?" He coughed a little and spared Hiro a glance. "Anyway, Hiro and I have to talk some things out. There's more privacy at the place Nathan got, and he's probably worrying himself sick."

"I expect he is," Mohinder agreed politely, secretly glad for the return to privacy. At any other time he would have loved to pick Hiro's brain, but he really had enough to deal with at the moment. Besides which, being around Peter these days was becoming increasingly exhausting.

"I'll come back soon, though." Peter added with certainty. "I'm sure you want to know what happened and… and there are some things we need to talk about."

_Lovely, _Mohinder thought sarcastically. He really didn't care if Peter heard that one either.

"Well you know where I live."

"Right, of course."

--

Sylar let out a small yawn as his plane back to the US settled at cruising altitude. Adam, as it turned out, had some quite amazing resources built up over the years. His contacts were 30 years out of date, as was his grasp on technology, but he was a fast learner and money was the one constant that made the world go 'round. Adam had caches all over the world: storage lockers, bank accounts, property. So no matter where he ended up, there were always resources at hand.

Sylar turned to frown at the occupants of the two seats in front of him. The woman resting her head on Adam's shoulder, mumbling something about rescue missions and kidnappings being exhausting work, had come as a shock. One Sylar still wasn't sure he was over.

After he'd finished dictating his terms and the deal was sealed in blood, so to speak, Adam had seen fit to introduce Sylar to his until-then silent partner. She was a partner in more than just business, but apparently his wife as well. When he first took in the polite but quiet red-head, Sylar had felt the strangest niggling of recognition. He'd flashed her his scariest grin out of habit as he ran through his memory, trying to figure out who she could be.

She had a bit of a frail build, tall for a woman but tiny compared to Sylar. Hair that seemed to refuse to decide whether it wanted to be curly or straight framed a pleasantly chiseled face and determined eyes that were the only hint that she was anything other than a timid little church mouse.

It was the eyes that finally did it. The ones he remembered with more world-weary, older, but they contained that same determination. Once he put that together it was easy to fit the rest of the puzzle around it. She was the woman who had come back from the future, only she wasn't. This was the version from the present. Adam introduced her as Patricia and Sylar had nodded absently as his mind whirred with discovery.

There was no doubt about it. This Patricia was several pounds lighter with less muscle. The one from the future had been covered in layers of rags and dirt which had distorted her features and made her difficult to recognize, not to mention the attitude change, but Sylar's eidetic memory didn't lie. Unless she had a twin, they had to be the same woman. He didn't doubt that 200 years of life where the world was dying around you could change a person, harden them.

It was strange to say the least and for a moment he wasn't sure what to say. Then the old habits, the appropriate mask, swung into place. Intimidation was a useful tool in almost any situation.

"Another Empath, how _wonderful,_" he observed scornfully before rolling his eyes over towards Adam. "Is she as out of control as Petrelli?"

Adam's expression made it plain that he hadn't expected Sylar to be able to deduce what Patricia's ability was just by looking at her, but he moved past the surprise swiftly and easily.

"No, as a matter of fact," Adam had replied smoothly. "Empathy comes in varying strengths and degrees. Peter's variety has the most raw power but, as you've so aptly observed, it can easily spiral out of control."

Sylar quirked an eyebrow and ran his eyes up and down Patricia's frame. She stood firm against the intense scrutiny, folding her arms and glaring stubbornly at him.

"You don't want what I can do," she told him firmly, though there was the slightest quiver of worry underneath. It was the most she had said to him up to that point and Sylar couldn't resist letting out an amused chuckle as he deliberately ran his eyes along the invisible line on her forehead where he might draw his trademark incision.

"Not for the moment, at least," he replied with a grin before moving on to more important matters. Even if he wanted her ability, Sylar got the distinct impression that her future self wouldn't take too kindly to an attempt; more importantly though, he -rather grudgingly- owed this woman his life. Infuriating though that thought might be, killing her could mess with the future, and the past, in ways he didn't particularly want to risk just yet. Besides which, he had agreed to leave her alone as a part of his deal with Monroe. Serial killer he might be, but he kept his promises; at least, unless he had sufficient reason not to.

Sylar let out a small puff of air, not quite a sigh, as he pushed Adam and Patricia from his mind. He closed his eyes, leaned back in his seat and set his thoughts to what was waiting for him back in New York. Though he couldn't say he was all that surprised, he was definitely frustrated with himself over the fact that the first thing to spring to his mind was neither revenge nor the powers he was going to collect, but how much he was looking forward to seeing Mohinder again. He couldn't even blame it on lust this time, though that was undeniably a factor.

Perhaps it was from spending his time with the disgustingly happy newlyweds. Though neither seemed overly enthusiastic about public intimacy, it was impossible to miss the signs. It was a glaring weakness, a potential Achilles heel for an enemy of either of them to exploit. Adam may have underestimated Sylar -everyone did at first, it was almost amusing- but he had a smart, sharp and devious mind. A little insane, granted, but then Sylar had never pretended to lay any claims on sanity himself. Someone with that much experience, who would quite likely exploit the same weakness in another, shouldn't fall pray to it himself. Yet here he was, laying a light kiss to his wife's temple, and Sylar's chest tightened at the sight.

Jealousy was something he had experience with, but before it had always made sense. He craved the abilities that others squandered. As a child, he'd felt envy; he'd coveted his fair share of material objects. He'd wanted a life of meaning and significance, wanted to be special. Feeling jealous over something as paltry and mundane as the _human_ connection between two people, it was beneath him.

Growling lightly to himself, Sylar grabbed at the bag sitting at his feet. He was wasting time sitting here, contemplating intangibles. He had work to do, facts to verify, deaths to plot. Little details like Mohinder's scent, still lingering in the leather of the satchel, were adamantly pushed from his thoughts. He pulled the pilfered bag up off the floor and laid it slowly on his lap. Deft fingers undid the clasp and tugged its plain-looking contents free: his file. Gabriel "Sylar" Gray's history as documented by Company researchers, stuffed in front of the far more detailed records of every experiment and medical procedure they had performed on him.

Sylar remembered precisely where the information he'd been most interested in r

rested. His memory didn't require more than a cursory glance to effortlessly store and recall information. Sketchy details of how he got his abilities back were the first substantive contents beneath the cover sheet. Notation on the death of the _talented_ agent acting as his jailer came next. These were followed by page after page of medical data. He planned to go through them all in detail later. For now, his interest lay in one particular event, his injection with the Shanti Virus.

--

It was a little after noon before Peter returned once more.

Mohinder had taken the time to get cleaned up, eat, and try and sort his head out. Eating was the easy part. He'd finally had a chance to go grocery shopping the previous day before dinner. Sorting out his head had mostly taken place while standing under the hot stream of the shower. There was a lot still to be dealt with, but the things that worried him the most would have to wait until the next time he saw Sylar. There was no doubt in his mind there would be a next time either. There was that mildly sore and painfully visible reminder on his neck of Sylar's promise to that effect.

The bruise had made getting dressed an unbelievable ordeal. Sylar had done an excellent job of causing damage and things had really only gotten worse overnight. Another turtleneck would have been the ideal solution, but New York had decided to finally, properly welcome spring and it was a maddeningly beautiful day. After more stressful contemplation than he cared to admit, he eventually decided he didn't care what anyone saw or didn't see. He wasn't going to let Sylar get to him. Peter had already seen it and Mohinder didn't intend to be particularly social otherwise. He'd thrown on a loosely buttoned white shirt over a pair of comfortable slacks and sat down on the couch to think and wait.

The knock on the door, when it finally came, jarred Mohinder out of his thoughts. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he forced his mind to change tracks. He got to his feet with a soft sigh and opened it after only the barest glance through the peephole. Reckless, perhaps, but Mohinder was feeling more than a bit reckless as of late.

"Hey," Peter greeted softly, almost nervously, as he entered and closed the door behind him.

"Tea?" Mohinder offered automatically, going ahead and plugging in the kettle for himself.

"Sure, thanks. I could use the caffeine." Peter stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, while Mohinder started pulling open cupboards and pulling out supplies. The tense silence was like a gaping wound, a chasm between the two men. Mohinder didn't particularly feel like talking, and Peter seemed a bit at a loss. Eventually Peter took a seat at the table, though he couldn't manage to keep still, shifting awkwardly in the chair.

"There isn't much to tell, really." Peter offered up finally. "I arrived a couple minutes before Sylar did. Thanks to Molly's ability I could almost… feel his presence. It was really weird, you know, like a combination of seeing it in my mind and _knowing_. Well, anyway, he must have heard us talking because the last thing I saw before teleporting us both away was the door flying in off its hinges."

"Well at least Hiro's safe," Mohinder mused as he poured out the boiling water.

"Ya," Peter nodded absently. "Well, safe from Sylar anyway."

"Right," Mohinder added dryly before passing Peter his hot beverage and taking the seat opposite him. There were several moments of awkward silence in which Peter seemed to be struggling with his words and Mohinder's patience grew increasingly thin. He focused on his annoyance, rather hoping that Peter picked up on it and didn't do what Mohinder thought he was about to do. Then Peter took one long draw on his tea (which probably should have burned his tongue wickedly, but Peter seemed not to notice) before clearing his throat.

"I know we haven't had a chance for private conversation since, well…"

"Since I basically accused you of being a lunatic?" Mohinder replied dryly with a thick undercurrent of regret.

"Don't worry about it." Peter dismissed before Mohinder could work out the words for an apology. "I know how I must have sounded and given your father- well…"

"Yes," Mohinder acknowledge softly. Having an excuse for his behavior didn't assuage his guilt at all, but now was really not the time to dwell on it.

"Right," Peter plowed on diligently. "So we haven't had a chance to talk just the two of us, but you have to know that I think of you as a friend, Mohinder. I wasn't feeling very receptive at the time, but I do appreciate that you wanted to help when you showed up at my place with Nathan. Plus you saved his life a few days ago and, well, my point is that I don't want to see you get hurt."

Mohinder averted his eyes, toying absently with his thumb ring. "I appreciate the sentiment Peter, I do. I wish things had gone differently and we had gotten to know one another before; but if you're about to suggest- Listen I'm sorry I lied to you about coming back here, but I don't need you to protect me. I can take care of myself."

"You sure about that?" Peter questioned dubiously. He was met with a defiant stare and unyielding silence, but Mohinder wasn't the only one capable of being stubborn and Peter plowed on. "I know you feel guilty for what happened to me; but it was my decision to make and I'd make it again."

"You nearly died, Peter." Mohinder broke his silence with evident frustration. "Now more than ever you're the one that needs protecting. Just because he knows what's at stake doesn't mean you're safe from Sylar. Just, trust me and stay away."

"And what about you, huh?"

"I told you I can take care of myself."

There was a long pause before Peter spoke again, this time prying from a different angle.

"Why did you lie about seeing Sylar?"

"I didn't lie," Mohinder retorted automatically. He didn't like where this was going, but he couldn't let Peter know that. "I told you both I saw him when he returned my keycard and that's the truth."

"But not the whole truth." Peter insisted and Mohinder visibly twitched; his indignant façade dropping for a heartbeat before settling firmly back into place.

"You want to know all the details of how he taunted me about using me for his nefarious deeds again?" Mohinder sneered, walls of defense now fully erect. "Seems a bit nosey even for you."

Peter reacted with a look that eerily resembled a kicked puppy, but was not discouraged.

"You can say as many hateful things about me as you want, Mohinder, but I'm not going away."

Mohinder winced at the implication that he was being cruel, but bit back on the urge to deny it or retaliate. Denial was useless; he _was_ resorting to nasty tactics to get Peter to leave him alone. Starting an argument now, however, would accomplish nothing. Mohinder took a long sip of his rapidly cooling tea and leveled a clearly annoyed glare at Peter.

"You tell Matt that he shows up at your apartment and nearly kills Elle, but doesn't. Weird enough on its own," Peter plowed on despite the cold shoulder. "Then he somehow follows us to the hospital where he knocks you out and attacks Nathan. Why bother with stealth? If Claire and I had shown up five minutes later would he have just been gone? Why kidnap you when he could have used the confusion to escape or maybe even kill us all? Why even kidnap you it the first place?"

He paused for breath in the vain hope that Mohinder would answer at least the last question, but Peter was met with yet another wall of silence, so he continued.

"You avoided me after that, and I thought maybe you were just traumatized or something. Maybe you just needed space to deal with it. Now I'm thinking there was something you didn't want me to overhear."

Mohinder averted his gaze with the last observation. Peter had hit the proverbial bull's-eye and Mohinder's traitorous subconscious spit out the thought, memory, indignation of '_the bastard kissed me'_ before he could stop it.

"It's none of your business, Peter. Please, just leave it alone." He pleaded immediately, forestalling whatever Peter's reaction to that stray thought might have been; if he had heard it at all.

"As long as Sylar is a threat it is my business," Peter protested. "More than that though. Ever since Saturday morning… I'm an Empath, Mohinder, and it means more than just absorbing abilities. Something major happened to you Friday night, and I don't need to read your thoughts to know it. You do a good job of hiding it, but I can almost feel your pain and confusion. Just- I just want to help."

"That's new! When did you realize you-"

"If you want to study me you'll have to answer my questions first." Peter interrupted with a faint grin.

"Then I guess we'll both just have to go unsatisfied," Mohinder groused stubbornly.

Peter huffed in frustration, staring around the apartment as if something within it might hold the key to getting Mohinder to open up to him.

"Don't you ever get tired of keeping everything bottled up inside you?"

"As opposed to wearing my heart on my sleeve and sharing my private life with the world?" Mohinder drawled disdainfully.

"You consider Sylar part of your private life?" Peter quirked an eyebrow at that and Mohinder sighed deeply.

"You're really not going to give up are you?"

"Nope. You're a smart guy. I thought you would have figured that out a while ago." Peter retorted with a pronounced grin. It was the good-natured smile more than anything else that did Mohinder in. He threw himself to his feet and started pacing absently.

"Fine. Yes, Sylar was here longer than I said. Is that what you wanted to hear?" He crossed his arms over his chest and paused in his pacing to shoot a withering glare at Peter once more. Maybe it was petty or unnecessary, but the indignation felt right.

"Why?"

"Because he's obsessed with me, ok? Maybe because when we first met I didn't know who he was and showed him some kindness. Maybe because he wants to use me to find more victims. Maybe because he's insane and his reasons won't ever make sense to the rest of us. I don't know!" He'd picked up his pacing once more and ran a hand through his hair, briefly tugging his curls in frustration. "I've got a serial killer stalker who thinks that murdering my father was a way of bringing us closer together!"

Peter's mouth formed a surprised 'O', but he stayed silent and let Mohinder continue on. Now that he'd started, Mohinder was barreling ahead full steam, letting the flood of repressed anxiety pour forth.

"Oh it gets better! Either he's a very good actor, or there's an intelligent, philosophical man beneath the obvious psychosis. One I _liked_. One I made friends with, before I discovered the truth. So now he's convinced that I can just 'get over' all the atrocities he's committed. Except-" Mohinder trailed off, unsure, and flopped exhaustedly into his chair once more.

"Except?" Peter prompted softly. The disgust and horror Mohinder had half expected were absent. Peter's face was a simple picture of concern. Whether it was a mask or not, well it didn't matter just yet.

"He didn't kill Elle… I don't know what that means, except she's only alive because I begged him not to. It's probably just another way to mess with my head, but…" he let out a deep sigh. "I had a… a dream last night."

"Don't tell me you're getting prophetic dreams now too," Peter joked lightly. "I thought you didn't have an ability."

Mohinder quirked the barest of smiles.

"I don't, but there are others who can… enter the dreams of others. I met one when I went back home. He was almost like a spirit guide. If it weren't for him I would have given up…"

Peter nodded and Mohinder pressed on.

"I saw a lot of different things last night, but the last…" He leaned forward onto the table. "Remember what Sylar said about an Empath from the future? Well I met her."

"She came to you in a dream?"

"Skeptical?"

"Not at all," Peter protested. "I mean, maybe if she hadn't been right about me, but… no. Just, picturing how Nathan would be rolling his eyes right now, I guess."

Mohinder nodded faintly. It didn't take long to pick up on Nathan's disdain for the fantastical; irregardless of the reality of his own family's incredible nature.

"So what did she say?" Peter prompted after a brief, awkward silence.

"You won't believe it."

"Oh come on, it's me! Save the Cheerleader, Save the World, remember?"

Mohinder graced Peter with a long, penetrating look, clearly still skeptical. In the end though, he shrugged.

"She said that Sylar might be the only one who can save the world this time."

"Bullshit!"

"Told you."

"How? Anything he can do, I can do!"

"Theoretically," Mohinder insisted gently. "No offense Peter, but the one thing he's got that you don't is control."

Peter's consternation was plastered clear as day on his face. Obviously he didn't believe it, but then Mohinder was still having a hard time with that himself and he was pretty sure he knew what Sylar 'saving the world' entailed.

"At least it explains why she didn't kill him when she had the chance," Mohinder offered.

"How?" Peter demanded angrily. "How is _Sylar_ supposed to save the world?"

"Well, I think, by helping me cure you."

"You think?!"

"She was rather vague about it."

"I don't buy it. This has got to be some sort of trick."

"I'll admit the thought had crossed my mind, but the evidence would suggest otherwise."

"You said he tricked you before."

"That was different." Mohinder insisted, "but thanks for twisting that dagger. It's not like I don't feel enough guilt over what happened."

Peter didn't seem much affected by the sarcasm, though clearly not believing what Mohinder was saying. On a positive note, however, he seemed sufficiently distracted from further digging into Mohinder's psyche.

"I need to borrow Molly's maps again." Peter finally offered out of the blue. "I promised Hiro I'd make sure his friend isn't in any danger."

--

The plane shook jerkily as it passed through a pocket of turbulence. Various passengers muttered in annoyance or let out little hisses of fear. Sylar was not among them. In fact, he hardly registered the event. His mind was preoccupied with far more important things.

Soft breathing wafted through the air, also heedless of the turbulence. Patricia was soundly asleep, had been for a while now, and from the sound of his breathing Adam wasn't far behind.

_No rest for the wicked,_ Sylar thought nastily as he prodded Adam in the back of the head with a telekinetic jab. Adam grumbled something Sylar suspected was supposed to be crude and batted a hand sleepily through the air. As if he could brush away some petty annoyance. Sylar did not like the comparison; even if it was only of his own fabrication. He jabbed at Adam's neck this time, sharpening the point of his telekinetic prod, drawing blood.

Adam startled awake with a curse. A flight attendant raised an eyebrow in his direction before asking if he needed anything. Adam shook his head, sent her away before turning back to flash a thinly veiled glare at Sylar.

"There are more civilized ways to get a man's attention, you know." He chided coolly.

Sylar leaned against his armrest, chin in hand.

"There are," he agreed evenly.

Adam sighed with annoyance before extricating himself from his seat and coming around to take the empty one to Sylar's left.

"Well, now you have my undivided attention," Adam declared as if he was dealing with a petulant child. Sylar narrowed his eyes dangerously, but Adam held his gaze evenly, without flinching.

"Good," Sylar replied with mock pleasantness. It wasn't worth the commotion to kick Adam back into line. Not here, now, at any rate. With a flick of his finger, the single sheet Sylar had set aside floated into his grasp, where he held it up for Adam to see. "Robert Bishop, I want to know everything about him."

Adam's lips curled into a smile, "Oh we are going to work well together indeed"

--

Peter pulled a map of the world out from within the others and spread it over the table. It was a strange sight for Mohinder, who was so used to seeing Molly rifle through these maps. It was almost wrong, in a way.

"Ok, here goes." Peter announced before closing his eyes and letting a hand hover over the map.

Mohinder watched in silence. He still didn't know what he was going to do, but getting Sylar's whereabouts would at least give him an idea of how much time he had left.

Peter's hand waved back and forth, smooth movements interspersed with erratic, jagged ones. His brow furrowed in concentration, teeth gritted as if he were having more trouble than the previous night. Mohinder noted this with some concern, but as the movements of Peter's hand became more focused, he became consumed with the placement of the pushpin above all else. Abruptly Peter's hand stopped, placing the pin in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and let out a strangled gasp.

"Oh shit." He breathed unsteadily and Mohinder gazed at him quizzically. This meant that Sylar was on his way back but it certainly wasn't a reason to panic just yet, except Peter looked ready to.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Peter exclaimed almost frantically, dropping the pin and jumping away from the table as if it had suddenly burst into flames.

"What? What is it?" Mohinder demanded immediately.

"Adam," Peter whispered the name with an indecipherable mixture of emotions. "Shit, Adam's with Sylar!"

Mohinder ran what he knew of Adam through his head and had to reluctantly agree that this was not a good development.

"You saw them together?" Mohinder inquired after a moment, "and Adam's not dead?"

"Side-by-side plane seats," Peter offered as he leaned back against the couch for support. "It can't be just a coincidence right?"

"Cellular regeneration has to be the one ability Sylar wants above all others. If he knows what Adam's capable of, he shouldn't be alive." Mohinder affirmed, though with less confidence than he would have liked.

"Unless they've come up with some kind of deal," Peter suggested immediately. "Adam, well he's very good at manipulation." He trailed off there with something of an embarrassed sigh.

"So is Sylar." Mohinder rebutted half-heartedly. "To call it a coincidence would have to be wishful thinking."

"We have to go tell Hiro. He'll want to know Adam's escaped…"

"Escaped?"

"Er… well, Hiro told me he left Adam somewhere he couldn't hurt anyone ever again. Clearly it didn't take."

"Clearly."


End file.
